


Headmaster

by chasingriver



Series: Headmaster AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boarding School, Caning, Desk Sex, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Headmaster AU, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Pony Play, Rimming, Roleplay - Teacher and Student, Rough Sex, School Uniforms, Sherlock is a Brat, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, holmescest, slut!Sherlock, slut!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <img/>
  </p>
</div><br/>Mycroft is the headmaster at a boarding school. Sherlock is his student. Written as a fill for a prompt  and resulting fan art on the Sherlock kinkmeme. Warning: sibling incest
            </blockquote>





	1. Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fan art [here](http://gentleman1895.livejournal.com/558.html) that was a fill for this prompt: "Sherlock's partner is the one with a schooldays fantasy and he fulfills it. Special bonus if it's Mycroft and he always felt guilty for the way Sherlock's uniform made him feel."
> 
> The age of consent mentioned here is 18 because Mycroft is in a 'position of trust.' This makes it different from the standard age of consent of 16.
> 
> Cover art by deklava.

Mycroft had always wanted to go into politics, but instead he'd ended up as headmaster of a stuffy boarding school. Worse yet, his little brother was one of his students.

Sherlock hadn't started out there as a student, of course, but he'd gotten himself thrown out of three different boarding schools for "disciplinary reasons." The first time, he'd created new and interesting drugs in the chemistry lab. The second had involved some inappropriate "exploitation" of horse tack from the stables. The third involved leaving school to live with a rent boy in London. After he'd been tracked down, he'd been sent to Mycroft's school. Mycroft had been given strict orders to "keep an eye on him."

Neither Sherlock nor Mycroft were happy about this, but for entirely different reasons.

Sherlock's reasons were fairly predictable. First off, he'd been happy living in London. It wasn't boring. Secondly, well, when he was in London, he hadn't been in school. He'd been bored by school since he was six. What else was there to learn? Languages – he knew twelve of them and was fluent in seven. Chemistry? University level - the only reason he hadn't gone any further was because he'd gotten side-tracked by creating the drugs, et cetera.

Mycroft was unhappy about it because he'd spent the previous fifteen months assiduously avoiding his little brother. Two Christmases ago, Sherlock had deduced that Mycroft harboured some rather unconventional feelings towards him. Sherlock had used it against him ever since - not as blackmail, mind you – he'd spent the intervening time actively trying to seduce Mycroft.

Mycroft was having none of it, of course. _Sherlock wasn't even eighteen. It was wrong. It was inappropriate. It would tarnish the family name (as if he honestly cared)._ So he'd gotten this headmaster's job, sure that it would put some distance between him and Sherlock. It did, until Sherlock showed up on the front doorstep with a burly escort and a letter from Mummy explaining that Sherlock was now Mycroft's responsibility.

It wouldn't have been too bad, either, if Sherlock had just kept his head down and behaved. But he hadn't. _Of course he hadn't._ Misbehaviour required punishment, and punishment required being sent to the Headmaster's office. Mycroft dreaded these visits. For him, they were a study in sexual frustration. For Sherlock, they were part of an elaborate game designed to torture his brother.

Sherlock played his part well. "I'm here for my punishment. Sir."

"Sherlock. What is it this time?"

"Genetically modifying the greenhouse tomatoes to have a laxative effect." He gave Mycroft a lascivious smile. "Sir."

Mycroft sighed. It was a shame, really. Sherlock was so damned brilliant, and he was wasting his mind at this pathetic school. _He_ was the one who should be working for the government – doing research in a lab somewhere, not being forced to 'study' things he'd learned when he was eight.

"I understand that what I did was wrong. Sir."

Every time he said 'Sir' in that low, velvety voice, Mycroft had to look away. _It's wrong. It's wrong. It's wrong. If I say it enough times, perhaps I'll stop feeling this way._

"I understand I need to be punished. Sir."

_I am in Hell._

"I believe the traditional punishment is ten strokes with the cane. Sir."

Mycroft stole a quick glance at his brother.

Standing there, waiting for his 'punishment' in his school uniform, Sherlock was unapologetically hard.

_I am in the Special Hell._ "Fine. Bend over the desk."

Sherlock licked his lips slowly, and started unbuttoning his trousers.

Mycroft managed to gasp out a "Good god, no! Leave those on!" before Sherlock had undone a third button.

"I believe the punishment is traditionally administered bare-arsed. Sir."

"I'm making a special exception. Actually I'm making a special exception about the whole thing. I'm not going to punish you for this."

Sherlock pouted. "I'll just keep doing worse things until you're forced to. You can't chuck me out. Mummy won't allow it. If you punish me, I'll keep my 'indiscretions' to a less frequent schedule. It'll be mutually advantageous." He dragged out the last word with a lingering stare at Mycroft's groin.

Mycroft closed his eyes tightly, hoping this was a nightmare. When he opened them, Sherlock was just inches from him. He could smell soap and wool blazer and that scent that was… Sherlock. He stepped back, only to find himself up against the wall. Sherlock moved in. "Punish me, or I'll just make it worse for you." He finished undoing his trousers and let them fall to the floor. Mycroft refused to look anywhere but his face, but he could tell he wasn't wearing any pants. _He knew he was coming here. Oh fucking hell. Of course he did. Everything he does is planned._

Sherlock pressed against him, his hard length leaving a damp spot at the top of Mycroft's thigh.

_Is it possible to have a heart attack in your twenties?_ "Desk. Now. Don't make me tell you again."

Sherlock smiled in victory and stepped out of his trousers. He bent provocatively over the desk, wiggling his frankly gorgeous arse at Mycroft in a blatant taunt.

Mycroft snapped, which was exactly what Sherlock had wanted. Calculated. Planned. Executed.

As the cane slashed through the air and contacted his thighs, Sherlock didn't yelp, or scream, or take it stoically. He moaned.

_This,_ thought Mycroft, _is going to be even worse than I'd thought. Nine more._ He started making them less forceful. Perhaps he'd stop moaning.

"I don't feel I'm being adequately punished. Sir. I'd probably just relapse sooner. Sir." He squirmed, rubbing his raging hard-on against Mycroft's desk.

Mycroft closed his eyes against the spectacle in front of him and lashed out with the remaining strokes. Sherlock moaned for each and every one.

"I'm not sure I've had enough. Sir."

"Oh, you've had enough. Trousers. Now."

Sherlock sulked over to the side of the room and put his trousers back on.

When he was dressed, Mycroft grabbed him and pushed him roughly back against the desk. _The look of surprise on his face. Oh, yes. That was worth it._ "Three months, Sherlock. That's it. Three more months until you're out of here. Three months until you turn eighteen. Three months until you're no longer my student. If you decide you still want this," he pushed himself roughly against his brother, "come and find me. I'll be only too happy to oblige. But not a day before."

With that, he pushed Sherlock out of the office and slumped in a heap behind the closed door.


	2. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle of wits.

The next time Sherlock was sent to the Headmaster's office, Mycroft was waiting for him with none of the trepidation he usually exhibited. "Brother, dear. How lovely to see you. What infraction shall I be punishing today?"

Sherlock smiled. "Does it really matter?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't. Get your trousers off and bend over the desk."

Sherlock looked at him, clearly surprised by this new development. "What happened to your pathetic moral conflict?"

Mycroft smiled patronisingly. "Does it really matter?"

Sherlock took off his trousers, but Mycroft's lack of discomfort was clearly annoying him.

Mycroft's gaze lingered openly on his groin. "Really, little brother. You are so utterly predictable. No pants – again – doesn't that chafe? Over the desk, please."

Sherlock wasn't sure how all this had gone so wrong, so quickly. He bent over the desk, his hands in front of him, his erection pressed against the polished wood.

"Don't you find this amusing, Sherlock?"

"What?" Sherlock practically growled.

"How aroused you are, even though you aren't getting your own way. It's almost like you want to be punished."

Sherlock gave a non-committal grunt.

"I realised I have no moral conflicts about punishing you when you deserve it. Whether or not I'm aroused by it is irrelevant. In fact, the sight of your bare arse, waiting to be caned, is making me ridiculously hard. After you leave, I'll pleasure myself to the memories of the sounds you make as I punish you, whether they're moans or screams." It was only partially true – if Sherlock didn't enjoy this, there was no way he'd be able to bring himself off to the thought of it. _But Sherlock doesn't know that._

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, the thought of it making him weak. _Damn him, and damn my body for betraying me like this._ "Shut up and get on with it, Mycroft."

"As you pointed out during your last visit, it shall be my pleasure." He picked up the cane, positioned himself behind Sherlock, and landed the first stinging blow.

Sherlock tried to stay quiet. He didn't want to give Mycroft the satisfaction. With the second blow, the barest trace of a moan escaped his lips. He couldn't help it.

"Go ahead, Sherlock. Enjoy it. It makes no difference to me." _It makes every difference to me. One more month. Will you still want this? Or is this all just a game that you'll tire of?_

In a last-ditch effort to unnerve his brother, Sherlock looked back at him through long, dark lashes, put one knuckle in his mouth, and bit down.

Mycroft's next stroke wavered, and Sherlock smiled around his knuckle, baring his teeth. _Not so invulnerable now, are you, brother? You enjoy watching me take pleasure from this._

Mycroft refused to close his eyes while Sherlock was watching him. He administered the rest of the blows, praying his features wouldn't betray his emotions. His erection betrayed his desire, of course, but he didn't want Sherlock to see his anguish. He steeled his nerves and stood tall, placing the cane to the side. "We're done here."

"You might be, but I'm not." Sherlock stood up, his shirttails brushing his erection as he walked around the large desk. He sat shamelessly in Mycroft's desk chair.

_Oh dear lord._

Sherlock looked Mycroft in the eye and started to stroke himself, arching his body into it and making soft moaning sounds. When his thumb touched the head of his cock, he swirled it slowly around before running his hand back down his shaft.

 _I've lost. Again._ Mycroft couldn't even bring himself to look away. The spectacle of his brother, pleasuring himself, _in his fucking chair_ , was almost too much to take. He bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood.

Sherlock's hand was moving more quickly now, and he threw his head back in pleasure.

 _God, that neck. The marks I want to leave on that neck._ It took all the remnants of Mycroft's shattered will to remain silent. He still couldn't look away.

As Sherlock got closer to release, his moans became more desperate. His other hand gripped the chair so tightly it left fingernail marks in the wood.

Mycroft stood and watched, hands clenched at his sides, his own fingernails leaving marks in his palms. His mouth was open and his breathing was shallow. He was so hard he ached. _Leave. Just walk out._ He almost laughed at the ridiculous thought.

Sherlock's moans got louder, and his thrusts into his fist got more erratic. "Fuck… Mycroft…"

 _Oh, god._ As Sherlock came all over his desk, Mycroft came inside his trousers. He closed his eyes, mortified.

Sherlock sprawled, heavy limbed, in Mycroft's chair. "See what you do to me, Mycroft?"

"Leave, Sherlock. Please, just leave."

"No."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Get out, brother. I've had enough of your game, and my patience is wearing thin."

"It's not a game."

Mycroft rounded on him angrily and strode over to stand in front of him. "Really? What is it then? A calculated attempt to drive me mad?" _Because I think it's working._ "You've been playing at this for a year and a half now."

Sherlock's voice was quiet and he stared in the other direction. "Only because you won't give in."

Mycroft turned the chair so Sherlock faced him. He reached out and tilted his brother's chin towards him, forcing him to make eye contact. The anger had gone out of his voice now. "That's exactly my point. You know I won't give in while you're underage. That makes winning rather trivial, don't you think?"

Sherlock twisted out of his grasp and looked away. "I told you, it's not a game."

"Tell me, Sherlock. What would you do if I said yes?"

Sherlock looked at him, his eyes wide. "I never thought you would."

"I told you – not a day before you're eighteen. There are certain lines even I will not cross. So, is it all about the chase, or is this something you actually want?"

Sherlock just sat there, staring at him.

"Well. I'll find out in a month, won't I? Now, clean yourself up and get back to class."


	3. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock turns 18.

The school term had ended on Wednesday. As Headmaster, Mycroft needed to stay through the end of the week in order to finish up paperwork. Sherlock's birthday was Thursday. Theoretically, he was leaving with the other students on Wednesday afternoon, and Mycroft would see him back at the manor on Saturday. Mycroft was fairly sure that wasn't going to happen.

He'd made the rounds of the dormitory on Wednesday morning to see the students off. Sherlock had been there, dutifully packing his belongings for the train ride home, a bored look on his face. Mycroft even gave him the courtesy of a ride to the station and a friendly brotherly send-off. Sherlock had been polite enough but had fairly seethed underneath his calm exterior. They both knew he had no intentions of taking the train, and Mycroft's little escort merely ensured that he'd have to find a ride back to the school from the next station. Mycroft smiled to himself as he drove back, knowing Sherlock was well aware of the moves on both sides of the chess board.

He got back to the school to find it mostly empty, as he'd expected. The staff had left with the students for the summer holidays. Even the groundskeepers were gone – they only got one week off a year, but they were as glad to be rid of the students as everyone else, and they took it at the beginning of the summer. Having bought himself some time, Mycroft made his preparations. A quick trip to the nurse's office provided him with all he needed.

Mycroft locked the dormitory. There was no point in making this too easy for him. He was fairly sure Sherlock wouldn't try anything until midnight, but he wanted to make him work for a bed to relax in until then. He left the other buildings open. Part of the game was the excitement of not knowing exactly how he'd play it. He made his way to the kitchen for supper. Cook had been good enough to leave him with meals through the end of the week. He ate in silence, wondering where Sherlock was on the grounds.

Sherlock made it back to the school at five in the afternoon, furious. It would have seemed more than a little odd – a student needing a ride back to the school after the holidays had started – and so he'd been forced to walk the four miles from the village station. The only saving grace was that the weather was good and he'd been able to stash all his bags (except for the small one that he needed) behind the pub. He'd gone straight to the dormitory, only to find it locked. _Of course._ He picked the lock with ease and went up to his room, just wanting to have a bit of a rest after the hilly walk back to the school. _Mycroft would probably be eating supper by now._ _It would do him good to skip a few meals. Sharpen his mind. If history was any indicator, Mycroft would most likely go back to his cottage around ten._

Mycroft took his time and relished every bite of his supper. Cook had even left him some cake. _Bless her._ A lovely chocolate creation she'd made for the staff to celebrate the end of term. He wandered back to his cottage to gather a few more supplies, glancing towards the dormitory as he went. _No lights. Well, I'm glad to see you're not slipping, at least._ Checking the cottage for signs of his brother, just in case, he grabbed some things and returned to his office. He worked on paperwork until ten and headed back to the cottage. He turned on some lights, waited a few minutes, and quietly crept out the front door. Using the school gardens as cover, he once again made his way back to his office.

Sherlock saw the lights go off in the office at ten and watched as Mycroft went back to the cottage. In his excitement about the upcoming events, he wasn't paying close attention and didn't see him leave. By half past eleven, he was irritated. By quarter to twelve, he was seething. He'd expected Mycroft to be in bed by now, but the lights were still on. His plan had been to disrobe in the dormitory, break into the cottage in his dressing gown, and pin him to the bed as he slept. Clearly, that wasn't going to work. _Well, showing up half naked would have to be good enough._ Just before midnight, he left the dormitory in his dressing gown and made his way across the grounds to the cottage. Picking the lock quietly, he crept inside, half expecting to find his brother waiting for him. He wasn't. Alarmed, he searched the cottage. On the neatly made bed, there was a note in Mycroft's neat script. "In my office, brother-mine." Sherlock knew he should have been furious, but the molten ache in his gut betrayed that. Storming out of the cottage, he made his way to the main house.

Mycroft watched Sherlock from the darkened office. _Dressing gown. A shame really – I'd rather looked forward to slowly taking that damned uniform off you. Ah, well._

Sherlock burst into the office, equal parts self-righteous indignation and unashamed lust. "Mycroft."

Mycroft slowly ran his tongue over his lips, like a lion about to consume its prey. "Sherlock. Happy birthday, dear brother. I'm surprised to see you – I was expecting you to be home by now."

"You were expecting nothing of the sort."

Mycroft smiled. "Well, I'll concede that. So, why are you here?"

"You know why I'm here."

The smile vanished from Mycroft's face. "I need to hear you say it."

There was a long pause. _Not going how I'd planned..._ "I need you, Mycroft."

"And…?"

Another pause. "I want you."

 _Two out of three. I can live with that. The other I can wait for. Let's see how easily he's scared off._ "Very well, over the desk, palms up. If you move, it's all off."

Sherlock looked at him, confusion on his face.

"Don't make me say it again."

He bent over the desk, sure this was retribution for his wank in Mycroft's chair. He was surprised to hear the snap of nitrile gloves. "What the hell, Mycroft?" _I didn't expect this, at least not so soon._

"Do shut up, Sherlock. I'm not naïve enough to think I'll be the first person to plough that gorgeous arse of yours. Nor will I have relations with a junkie. A few judicious inquiries have assured me you haven't been sexually active since you came here, so some blood work should ensure that you're healthy." He tapped at the vein on Sherlock's upturned arm, noting the lack of track marks with satisfaction. "This vein should do nicely."

Sherlock shot him a vicious look and drew his arm back.

"I told you not to move. I wasn't joking. Do it again, and this is over." Sherlock moved his arm back into position.

"Where the hell did you learn to draw blood, Mycroft?"

"We all make our mistakes, Sherlock. Some of us learn from them."

Sherlock looked at him in surprise. _Now that, I didn't know._

Mycroft tightened the tourniquet around his brother's upper arm and watched as the blood filled the vein. He slid the needle in gently and released the tourniquet, filling the vials with his brother's blood. He pulled the needle back out and placed a square of gauze over the wound. "Hold that on there." He placed the strangely warm vials on a towel on the desk, making sure they didn't fall off.

Sherlock held the gauze in place as the wound clotted.

"Now, kneel in front of the chair." _Kneeling? In front of him? This is going to be more humiliating than I'd thought._ Unfortunately, the thought of it only made him harder. He knelt.

"Very good. Now you're going to apologise for being such a prat for the past six months."

Sherlock paused. "I'm sorry, Mycroft."

Mycroft laughed. "Oh no, little brother, you misunderstand. This is not that sort of apology. This entire evening shall be your apology. If it's sincere enough, I might even let you come at the end of it."

The honest look of surprise on Sherlock's face was almost worth the months of torture.

Mycroft removed his trousers and his pants and stood in front of his brother. He was hard already – he'd been hard with anticipation ever since he'd watched him walk towards the main house. He bent down and whispered in Sherlock's ear. "Make all the noise you want little brother. It's just the two of us – nobody around for miles. I'm not going to restrain you. I want you to need this. I want you to take it willingly. You're free to leave at any time, but if you do, know that I will never lay a finger on you again. Ever."

Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft shoved his full length roughly into his brother's mouth. Sherlock gagged at the intrusion, but recovered his composure and started sucking on him. His efforts were surprisingly clumsy. Mycroft pulled his cock from his brother's mouth and grabbed Sherlock's dark curls. Pulling his head back so he could see his face, he looked into his eyes. There was trepidation there. "Have you ever done this before, Sherlock?"

Sherlock tried to pull away from his brother's grasp – tried to avoid his gaze – but Mycroft just held on tighter.

"Tell me."

Sherlock closed his eyes and said nothing.

"Open your eyes and look at me, Sherlock. Please." His voice was soft and quiet, and he loosened his grip on Sherlock's hair. _Christ, I hadn't even considered this. He's such a goddamned tease, I'd just assumed…_

"Stuart…" There was a pause. "I… I only ever let him suck me off. I never…"

"Why?" _Oh, god._ "Tell me _why_."

Sherlock looked at him with pleading eyes. "Because I wanted _you_ , My. I wanted it to be you." His dark eyes glistened with tears. "I'm sorry, My. You ran from me once I figured it out. I thought you'd never let me…"

Mycroft knelt down in front of him, pulled Sherlock to his chest, and held him. He ran one hand through his hair, soothingly. He briefly considered the possibility that this was more manipulation on Sherlock's part and discarded it. _I've never seen that look in his eyes. And if it is a lie, do I even really care? This is what I want, after all._ His mind fought back. _Even if this is just another one of his games? You know that will kill you._ He pulled back to look at Sherlock's face again to read what was there. It was wet with tears.

"I'm sorry, My. Please forgive me."

Mycroft kissed him then, wincing at the touch of his brother's lips finally against his own - the taste of Sherlock's tears mingling in their mouths. It was slow and gentle - the competition and anger gone, at least for now. Mycroft explored his brother's mouth with his tongue, enjoying the pleasure of it after so many years of denying himself. When they finally pulled apart they rested their foreheads together, their breathing ragged. "I forgive you, Sherlock."

Sherlock broke into a rare, genuine smile. "Thank you, My." He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You know, we don't have to do anything, Sherlock. We can just go back to the cottage and get some sleep."

"You're joking, right? I've been waiting for this for two years." He grabbed Mycroft and lay back onto the floor, pulling his brother on top of him. Then he caught Mycroft's mouth in another kiss, this one much more passionate. "Just because I'm a tease doesn't mean I don't actually want it."

Mycroft smiled at him, somewhat wickedly. "You've still been a complete prat for the last six months, though. Don't think you're getting away with it. From what I've seen, you seem to enjoy being punished."

Sherlock gazed at him through those ridiculously long lashes and smiled. "Possibly. I get the impression I might like it rough."

 _That_ went right to Mycroft's cock. "I think I need to take that virgin mouth of yours again and teach you how to do it properly."

"Perhaps you should tie me up first."

"Oh, no. You don't get to dictate here." He stood up, pulling Sherlock back to his knees at the same time. He grabbed the back of Sherlock's head, and slowly forced his entire length back into Sherlock's mouth. "Breathe through your nose. Helps with the gag reflex." He didn't stop until Sherlock's nose was buried in his ginger curls. Sherlock was struggling beneath him, but he kept a firm grasp on his hair. "Take it, little brother. Take it all. You wanted this, remember?"

Sherlock tried to process it as his brother's cock invaded his mouth. _Breathe through my nose. Fuck, so big. Jaw so stretched._ He panicked as Mycroft got deep enough to cut off his air supply. Even breathing through his nose didn't help with that. Mycroft kept forcing his cock further down his willing throat, even as the rest of his body struggled. _God I want this._

When he'd taken it all in, Mycroft pulled back out most of the way. Sherlock gasped for air. "Very good, little brother. I didn't think you'd get it all in there on the first try. Imagine what it's going to feel like in that tight arse of yours. Use your tongue now – swirl it around the head of my cock. You're a tease – you should be good at this sort of thing. Play with it. Make me moan." A challenge was always the best way to motivate Sherlock.

His tongue was surprisingly talented once given a little direction. "Use your tongue on the underside of my shaft. Oh, yes… like that. There you go. Now take it all the way back in again. Yes. Oh god, yes…"

Sherlock was finding it easier to take him all the way in now. _Deep breath before your air gets cut off. Swallow to work your throat against the head of it. Oh yes, he likes that._ A loud moan and the colourful prose emanating from his brother's lips confirmed it. Remembering what he'd liked when Stuart had sucked him off, he moved one hand to the base of Mycroft's cock and the other cupped his brother's balls.

Mycroft moaned at the new stimulation. "God, Sherlock, you're a quick study."

Sherlock replied with a handful of vowels that would have been "I always have been" if Mycroft's cock hadn't been in his mouth.

Mycroft pulled himself out of Sherlock's mouth with an obscene, wet 'pop.' He looked down at his brother. His eyes were completely black and his lips were swollen and red. _God, those lips._ "Sorry? I didn't quite catch that. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"

"I said, _dear brother_ ," there was a smile on his lips and his voice oozed with sarcasm, "I always _have_ been a quick study."

"You may have a talented mouth, but you're still an impertinent little brat. Let's see if I can fuck that out of you." He grabbed the back of his brother's head and shoved his way between Sherlock's wet, swollen lips. He felt, more than heard, Sherlock groan. With one fist firmly in his inky curls, he started fucking his mouth, hard.

There was no place for subtlety of technique now; Mycroft's cock was pounding into him. It was all he could do to gasp the occasional breath and try not to gag. It wasn't particularly sexy, but it was doing obscene things to both his brain and his cock – having his mouth used like this – being taken by Mycroft. It was thrilling. It was all he'd wanted for two years. It was what he'd thought about as he furiously fucked his own fist in the dormitory or when he'd let Stuart suck him off.

It was doing similar things to Mycroft's brain, to say nothing of his cock. He'd only recently come to terms with what Sherlock had termed his 'pathetic moral conflict.' He'd wanted his brother since he'd seen him at Christmas when he was fifteen. Two and a half years of shame and guilt and repression had nearly driven him mad. Six months of teasing and torture from his brother, and now here they were, and it would seem his feelings were reciprocated. He was fairly certain Sherlock wouldn't be letting him fuck his mouth like this if they weren't.

Mycroft felt the beginnings of his orgasm circling low in his gut. He didn't want to come down his brother's throat – not on his first time – it didn't seem fair. He went to pull Sherlock off his cock, planning on finishing himself off, but Sherlock was having none of it. He shook his head, grabbed his brother's arse, and impaled himself even deeper. Mycroft mentally shrugged – if that was what he wanted, he certainly wasn't going to argue – and pounded his way to completion. He let out a cut-off moan right before he came in thick spurts down his brother's throat. He shuddered as the shocks of pleasure coursed through him, the waves of it making his legs weak.

Sherlock lapped at his oversensitive cock, cleaning him and still teasing him with his tongue. Mycroft pulled out of his mouth, still breathing hard from the orgasm.

"You should get more exercise, Mycroft. You shouldn't be winded after that…" His tone was teasing – deliberately provoking – hoping for more punishment.

"Oh, don't worry little brother. I'll be getting plenty of exercise tonight. You're just begging for another caning. Have you done anything else with pain?" Now that he knew Sherlock was essentially a virgin, he didn't want to assume anything.

"No. I'm not sure if I got off from the pain, or because it was you. Or both."

"Take off your dressing gown and your shoes. I want you completely nude."

He used the belt from Sherlock's dressing gown to tie his hands in front of his body, leaving one end long as a sort of leash. Mycroft put his clothes back on. He took the end of the leash, grabbed the bag from the table and gently pushed his unclad brother in the direction of the door. It was time to see what a little exhibitionism did for Sherlock, as well as pain.

"Um, Mycroft?"

"No questions." He wrapped the impromptu leash around his hand and led him through the halls of the main house.

Every now and then, Mycroft stopped to look admiringly at his brother. Sherlock looked at him somewhat indignantly, fully aware that he was being led around by his dressing gown belt, completely naked, and very obviously aroused. "What?"

"I said, 'no questions.' Perhaps this will help you remember." He pulled a black silicone horse bit out of the bag he carried. The silicone bit was attached to two large chrome rings, with was in turn attached to a leather strap which buckled behind the head. He dropped the leash and worked the gag in between Sherlock's lips, buckling it firmly. "Nicer than the horse tack you 'exploited,' hm? It's a shame I don't have the rest of my pony gear here. Perhaps some other time."

Sherlock's eyes widened, even as his lips were stretched by the gag. _Apparently a predilection for horse tack runs in the family._

Mycroft picked up the leash and continued leading him through the main house towards the large oak door. When Sherlock realised they were going outside, he started to drag back slightly – probably unconsciously.

"Come on, Sherlock. You're such a little tease. Surely you want the rest of the world to know it? And if you don't, I certainly do. I'm going to take that bit out and hear that pretty voice of yours moaning across the school grounds. Have you ever come so hard you screamed?"

Sherlock's eyes couldn't get any wider as he stood at the open door – naked, bound, gagged, and hard as a rock.


	4. Grounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take the birthday celebration outside.

Mycroft tugged on the makeshift leash – Sherlock almost stumbled as he was pulled out into the warm June night. It was near enough to the solstice that there was still a vague hint of light low on the horizon, and a full moon hung in the sky. Mycroft smiled as he imagined the picture they must make – the fully dressed headmaster and his naked younger brother on a leash – making their way by moonlight on the manicured lawns where there had been students only twelve hours ago.

The gag had effectively silenced Sherlock, who, for once, was surprisingly obedient. He seemed to be getting used to the idea of being naked in public, even if there wasn't much that was 'public' about this. The manicured lawns were soft under the delicate skin of Sherlock's feet, and he padded along silently behind his brother – content, for now at least, to be led.

Mycroft took them to the ancient tree a few hundred metres from the main house. It had been pruned nicely over the years, leaving a solid trunk and a few sturdy lower branches. He dropped the leash and Sherlock waited. Mycroft dug through the bag and found the length of rope he'd brought. Tossing it over one of the lower limbs, he secured the ends of it to Sherlock's leash – tightly enough that his arms were above his head, but not so tight that it would cause major discomfort. He wanted Sherlock to enjoy this, not to dislocate his shoulders.

"Alright?"

Sherlock nodded.

"I'm going to remove the gag. You're free to say whatever you like, but know that you'll be punished for insolence."

Somehow, Sherlock managed a grin, even around the gag.

After Mycroft removed the gag, he watched as his silent ( _silent!_ ) brother flexed his jaw. Mycroft placed both hands on his brother's jaw and gently rubbed the feeling back into it. Placing one arm around Sherlock's waist to steady him, he drew him in for another kiss. _God, that mouth. I've waited so long._ _Will I ever be able to get enough of it?_ As his other hand carded Sherlock's hair, they explored each other again. Mycroft was content to draw things out, but Sherlock started to tug at his lower lip. When Sherlock started pressing his body against him, he pulled back. "Not yet, brother-mine."

Sherlock let out a small moan of disappointment, but he was quickly silent as he realised what Mycroft was doing.

Standing in front of his brother, Mycroft slowly and unselfconsciously disrobed. He folded his Headmaster's uniform neatly on the grass, tucked his socks inside of his shoes, and removed his silk boxers.

Sherlock had expected Mycroft to have more of a Victorian prudishness about his nudity, but his poise belied that. He processed and memorised every detail of his brother standing naked in the moonlight. There had been no time for a good look earlier. _I was wrong, My. You're even more gorgeous than I'd imagined. Those suits don't do you justice._

Mycroft stared back, admiring his brother's form, stretched taut by the rope. He was struck by an uncontrollable desire to run his tongue along that pale bare stomach. Bending in front of him, he slowly licked from the top of his leg, across his stomach to his opposite nipple. He carefully avoided his cock. _He's not the only one who can be a tease._

Sherlock closed his eyes and moaned into it. "Please, My."

"Oh, little brother. We haven't even started yet. You're going to have to wait. I've been waiting a very long time for this. You, on your knees in my office? That was just to take the edge off a bit. I have every intention of taking my time with you here. It should be light in, what, three or four hours? I want to see the sun rise over that beautiful body of yours. Of course, it might have a few more marks on it by then."

"It might have taken the edge off for you, but you're making _me_ insane."

"Oh, Sherlock," he said it as if speaking to a small child. "You have no idea, do you? No idea what you've put me through these past six months. I think you need a little lesson in empathy." He reached out, and with the slightest of touches, ran his fingers lightly over his brother's hard shaft.

Sherlock moaned and leaned into it, trying to get more pressure, but Mycroft pulled his hand away.

"No, Sherlock. Tonight, I shall keep you so hard, for so long, that it will hurt. You will beg me to let you come. If by some chance you do before I let you, I shall cane you until you're hard again, and we'll start over from the beginning. You're going to learn some patience."

The look on Sherlock's face was somewhere between lust and anguish, which was exactly where Mycroft wanted it.

Mycroft began to catalogue his brother's body, storing it away for future reference – the lines of it, the lightly toned muscles, his luminescent skin. He stepped behind his brother and let his hands dance over his shoulders and up his bound arms. He entwined his fingers with Sherlock's and pulled him back towards him, inhaling his scent. Sherlock moaned at the contact of Mycroft's cock against his arse, but Mycroft had no intention of indulging him – not yet.

He untangled his fingers from Sherlock's and gently moved his hair to the side, exposing the pale skin on the back of his neck. He kissed it – softly at first, but then with more pressure. Sherlock was trying to rub his arse against Mycroft's cock. "There shall be none of that." He slapped Sherlock's arse, hard. Sherlock let out a moan but stopped grinding against him. Mycroft knew this wasn't 'punishment' in the actual sense of the word – it would only serve to arouse Sherlock further – but that wasn't important.

He went back to teasing the small spot at the top of Sherlock's spine. All he did was kiss it – sometimes gently, sometimes harder. Biting, or even sucking on that spot, would have been welcome relief for Sherlock. Mycroft wanted him to suffer through those flickering, silvery feelings of longing. Apart from the hand holding his hair to the side, he didn't touch him. He just continued his gentle assault on that square inch of skin – it was the water torture of sex.

"God, My. Please…"

"No."

He went back to tonguing the area, pleased his efforts were having the desired effect. He was glad he'd tied Sherlock up like this – apart from being stunningly gorgeous to look at, he wasn't sure he could have gotten away with this if Sherlock hadn't been restrained.

Sherlock was sure Mycroft was trying to kill him, one slow lick at a time. _It's my neck, for fuck's sake. Why? Why is it this so hot?_ Without warning, the hand gently holding his hair to the side was fisting it, roughly. Mycroft bit at the spot on his neck and Sherlock's legs nearly gave out. "Nggghh. Fuck…"

Mycroft decided it was time to move on a bit, leaving small teasing bites along the side of his neck and his shoulder blades. He ran his finger down Sherlock's spine, lingering at the top of his arse cheeks. Sherlock started making incoherent little noises again as Mycroft drew small circles with his finger at the base of his spine.

Unable to see what Mycroft was doing, Sherlock gasped as he felt Mycroft's hands spread his arse cheeks and a hot tongue flicking over his entrance, so briefly he was barely sure it had happened. But it had – it definitely had – if the increased ache in his groin was anything to go by.

Mycroft resumed memorising Sherlock's body, taking him in with his eyes, his hands, and sometimes with his tongue. He was careful to avoid his cock – he didn't want too much stimulation yet. But the rest of his body – the insides of his thighs, the spot behind his knees, his ankles, his hairless chest, his nipples ( _oh, so sensitive, and I haven't even started focusing on them yet_ ), the delicate curve of his waist as it filled out into that improbably generous arse – all of that was fair game.

If all Mycroft had wanted was to hear Sherlock beg, they would have been done already. Sherlock had been reduced to incoherent moans and cut-off gasps. Every touch from Mycroft made his nerve endings sing. It didn't even matter where – every inch of his body, at this point, was an erogenous zone. When Mycroft took out the nipple clamps, he almost cried. _Finally – something to focus on – something other than these fleeting touches._

"Do you want these, Sherlock? They're going to hurt."

"Yes, My. Please. God, yes."

Mycroft smiled at him, pleased with his answer. For the first time in what seemed like ages, he hooked his arm around Sherlock's waist and pulled him in for another kiss. Sherlock's body, at least most of it, was limp against him. They got lost in that kiss for a while. As Mycroft pulled back and helped Sherlock find his footing, he checked his brother's wrists for signs of poor circulation. "How are your arms, Sherlock? Any tingling?"

Sherlock's speech was a little slurred, but that was the endorphins talking. "They're fine."

"I need you to tell me if you start getting any tingling or numbness, alright?" He lifted Sherlock's chin to make eye contact. "There are plenty of other ways I can tie you up." He smiled and held the nipple clamps in front of his brother. "Have you used these before?"

"No."

"Oh, I think you'll like them. They hurt like hell. And if your experience with caning is anything to go by, I think you might be wired wrong."

Sherlock looked confused, the fog of endorphins slowing his brain to a crawl. "Hm?"

"Pain, Sherlock. You get off on it. So do I. Most people don't. For us, it gets translated into pleasure. Our brains are wired differently. It actually makes sex far more interesting."

He carefully adjusted the clamp to the minimum strength and placed it on Sherlock's right nipple. The sensation – any sensation it seemed – caused him to moan. When Mycroft started tightening the screw that increased the pressure, the moan turned into a full-body groan and Sherlock's knees lost their ability to hold him upright. When he was standing once again, Mycroft tightened it a little further and started on the second one.

"Fuck, My, they feel so good."

Mycroft smiled and let him adjust to the new sensation for a while. Then he flicked at one of them with his fingers. Sherlock let out a howl that turned into a noise of sheer delight. "Oooh…" He flicked at the other one for good measure. Sherlock bucked against his restraints.

Mycroft gently stroked his leaking cock, just once. Then he leant down and licked the tip of it with his tongue, tasting the salty pre-come. He stood back up and shared the taste of it with Sherlock. "You want this so badly, don't you, little brother?"

"Mmm. Yes…"

His voice was far away and his pupils were completely blown. _Time to pull him back to Earth a bit. Time to reengage that massive brain of his._ "Tell me, Sherlock. I want you to _tell_ me what you want." _Endorphins. Nature's truth serum._

"Hm…?"

Mycroft flicked at one of the nipple clamps again, getting his attention. "I said, 'Tell me what you want.'" He could see Sherlock's eyes working to focus on him.

"I…"

"Focus, Sherlock."

"I want you to fuck me, My."

"Good. Now tell me _why_."

He could see the war of emotions play across Sherlock's features.

He asked again, very quietly. "Why do you want this, Sherlock?"

"I need you, Mycroft. You're all I've thought about for years. I think…" he trailed off.

"Go on, tell me." _This can't be happening. This can't be happening. Is this really happening?_

"I, um…" Sherlock was rarely at a loss for words. This wasn't just the endorphins. "I'm in love with you, My. I think I have been for a while. When I figured out how you felt, I was thrilled, but then you ran from me. I thought you hated me, or at least hated how you felt about me."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." _As much as I hate to admit it, he's right about the last part._

"Getting kicked out of school, moving to London – it was an attempt to get your attention. Getting sent here – that was the last card I had left to play. And when I got here, your 'age thing' pretty much ensured nothing was going to happen, so I set about trying to torture you instead. I thought having you feel something, _anything_ – even anger or hatred – towards me, was better than nothing."

Mycroft sighed. "You do know how I feel about you, right? I love you, and I have, for a very long time. But I will admit I've not dealt well with the moral implications of loving one's brother." He smiled. "Although the irony is not lost on me." As he talked, he gently removed his brother's hands from their makeshift bondage and lowered his arms to his sides. With Mycroft rubbing his shoulders, Sherlock leaned against him like a rag doll, flinching when the nipple clamps contacted his brother's chest.

Mycroft belatedly remembered the clamps. "Oh, right. I'm sorry, this is going to hurt a bit." He eased the clamps off, wincing in sympathetic pain, knowing they hurt more when they were removed. Sherlock winced a little but breathed through it, a slow smile once again taking over his face.

Sherlock looked at his brother. "So, what happens now?"

"I honestly don't know, Sherlock. There's nothing to keep me here." He looked at his brother ruefully. "You won't be here and I only came here to run away from you, so what's the point? I'll probably get a job with the government. You?"

"I don't know. Uni, I suppose. Regardless, I have three months to ignore that little reality. There's no reason you can't take some time off, unless you want to run away from me again."

"Not so much."

Sherlock laughed. "'Not so much?' Where did you learn that phrase?"

"Here. I feel positively ancient sometimes."

"Hardly." Sherlock leaned in and kissed him, glad to have cleared the air about the whole matter. They both were. "So, brother-mine. Are you going to deflower me yet, or do I have to beg?"

"Do you want to beg?"

Sherlock gave his brother a mischievous smile. "Perhaps just a little bit more."

"It _does_ suit you. God, there are so many things I want to do with you. To you. Nggh." His control weakening, he ground himself against Sherlock's toned thigh. _Bloody hell. Isn't my cock aware we just had a life-altering discussion? Show a little respect._ Sherlock didn't seem to be showing much respect either, so that was fine. "Are you cold? We can go back to the cottage if you'd like."

"No. Actually I like it out here." He laughed, and Mycroft smiled just at the rare sound of it. "It feels like I'm getting away with something."

"I suppose we are. It's not often one gets to have kinky sex of dubious legality on the grounds of a stuffy boarding school." He had a positively devilish grin on his face. "Honesty, this has made the entire bloody job worth it."

"So you want me to beg, hm? How do you propose to make that happen?"

"Well, brother-mine, I still don't think you've adequately apologised for defiling my chair. I think I need to put you over my knee and give you a good spanking."

"You honestly think I'm going to agree to that?" Sherlock's tone made it clear he was more than happy to agree to that.

"Oh, I'm hoping you won't." Mycroft lunged at his brother and pinned him up against the tree. "I'm not sure it will even do any good. You'll probably enjoy it and then where will I be?"

"Up to your eyes in bliss, no doubt."

"Mm. Probably." Mycroft started kissing him, roughly this time, grinding his body against Sherlock's and pushing him back against the tree.

Sherlock grabbed his arse and pulled him closer, rubbing their erections together. Now it was Mycroft's turn to moan.

"Bloody hell, My. I can't wait to hear the noises you make when you're actually fucking me."

"Mm. I'm sure it will be supremely embarrassing. But I'm not sure I give a fuck."

Sherlock pulled back and stared at him. "Since when do you use language like that?"

Mycroft raised one eyebrow and quirked a grin. "See what you do to me, little brother? I'm sure the future of the English language is doomed."

"Mm. Shut up and kiss me again, My."

Mycroft let him slide. _Alright, he can give one order._ It was, after all, a good idea. So he shut up and kissed him. He moved his hand between them and started stroking his brother's hard length. _Need more lubricant._ He pulled back from the kiss and ran his finger over Sherlock's wet lips.

Sherlock closed his mouth around it and sucked it in eagerly, making satisfied humming noises. It wasn't long before he sucked a second finger into his mouth and started doing obscene things to them with his tongue.

Mycroft had just wanted a little bit of lube. Having his brother, well, actually _fellate_ his fingers like this was unexpected and delicious. It was as if his brain had made a direct connection from his fingers to his cock, and his cock was reacting accordingly. Mycroft nuzzled at Sherlock's neck, licking and biting his way along it, leaving little red marks in his wake. He bent down and caught a nipple between his teeth, first teasing it with his tongue and then blowing on it. Sherlock squirmed gratifyingly at the sensation.

Sherlock gave a disappointed moan when Mycroft pulled his fingers from his mouth, but he quickly shut up when they were wrapped around his cock. To be more accurate, he started moaning in an entirely different sort of way. _The pressure and the friction feel so much better when someone else does it._ After being denied all night, he was ridiculously close to an orgasm. "My… if you keep that up, I'm not going to last long."

"Oh, yes you are, little brother." Mycroft snapped his fingers around the base of his cock, and Sherlock felt the beginnings of his orgasm fade into the distance. "I'm not done with you yet, remember? You don't get to come until I tell you."

 _Why do I find that so hot?_ Sherlock started to think he might have a serious submissive streak as well as a pain kink.

Mycroft forcefully turned his brother to face the tree and pushed him against it. "Since we don't have a chair, I'll just have to spank you against the tree. It's not quite as much fun as putting you over my knee, but it'll do. Brace your arms against it with your feet a little bit away from the trunk. I don't want you tearing yourself up on the bark. I have other ways to abuse that lovely cock of yours. Speaking of which…" he dug in the bag and pulled out a flexible cock ring. He rolled it down to the base of his brother's cock. "This will help. I don't want you coming too soon."

Sherlock shivered a little at the sensation – not sure if it was from the cock ring or Mycroft's hands. When the first stinging slap hit his arse, his first thought was " _well this is a useless experiment – I still don't know if I'm reacting to the pain or Mycroft._ " On the second slap, he decided it didn't really matter. On the third slap, his brain gave up completely and let his cock take over. On the fourth slap… well, his cock wasn't very good at math and just sort of went with it. Before he really knew what had hit him, so to speak, his brain was once again flooding with endorphins. It was with a measure of surprise that he registered Mycroft's hands spreading his arse cheeks. It came as an even bigger surprise when Mycroft's tongue was _there._

"Fuck, My! Are you sure you want to… oh, god. Oh…" He almost came from the sheer shock of it, but the cock ring prevented that. Mycroft's tongue gently lapped and teased him, causing a flurry of overwhelming new sensations… _nghhh. Brain, gone._

If Sherlock was a quick study, Mycroft was a thorough one. He never learned anything in half measures. He could speak dead languages, do complex maths in his head, and deduce someone's background from the contents of their billfold. He was also exceptionally good with his mouth. He'd had a ridiculously fortunate boyfriend in university who'd been lucky enough to be the recipient of Mycroft's studious endeavours. Mycroft knew that for at least one data point, he was able to make someone come just by using his tongue on their arse. He was sorely tempted to try for a second data point, but he decided that would have to wait for later. That didn't mean he couldn't linger a little, though.

Confident that Sherlock had started to relax after his initial shock, Mycroft slowly started to work his tongue into his entrance. This produced at least one new variety of moan that Mycroft hadn't heard before. Noticing his brother was starting to tremble, he realised 'up against the tree' probably wasn't the best position for this. He pulled him back from the tree and gently set him on the ground on his hands and knees. "Rest your head on your arms and put your arse in the air. It'll be more comfortable." He knelt behind him, Sherlock's arse once again at a comfortable position. His tongue returned to its ministrations, Sherlock's moans slightly more muffled than before. He stiffened his tongue and used it to push inside a little, eliciting a new round of mumbled ecstatic cursing.

Since his hands were still spreading Sherlock's cheeks, he used the opportunity to slick up one of his thumbs and slowly, gently pressed into his brother's virgin arse.

Sherlock gave a cut off gasp of pleasure.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"God, no. That… oh, that's good." There was a bit of a pause. "My?"

"Hm?" Mycroft had gone back to gently tonguing his arse.

"I'd like to see you… while we do this, I mean."

Mycroft smiled. "Of course, love." He fumbled around in the bag and took out the towel he'd brought. (He always knew where his towel was.) He folded it a couple times as Sherlock flipped over onto his back. "Here, put this under your hips. It'll be a better angle that way."

Mycroft looked down at his brother, his skin almost glowing in the dim half-light. "God, Sherlock. You're gorgeous. I still can't quite believe you want this as much as I do." He looked at him with a sudden hint of panic. "You do, right?"

Sherlock laughed. "Don't be an idiot, My."

Mycroft shifted down between his legs, lightly running his fingernails over his brother's chest. He dragged his tongue over the head of his brother's leaking cock and Sherlock bucked beneath him.

"Oh, fuck. Do that again, My, please."

"Are you going to beg?" Another quick lick. "Hm?"

"Yes, please. Anything. Please, lick my cock again like that."

"No, I don't think so."

"What?" There was just an edge of panic in Sherlock's voice.

"I'd rather lick it like this…" He ran his tongue slowly up the entire length of it, from his balls to the tip. "Or like this." He closed his mouth over his length and took him all the way down to the cock-ring.

Sherlock writhed beneath him, mumbling something incoherent. He was starting to believe Mycroft was some sort of mouth-god.

Mycroft wasn't sure which was better – the taste and feel and sheer thrill of actually sucking off his brother, or listening to the sounds Sherlock made while he did it. It was pretty damned close. Delicately, and just to prove he could, he removed the cock ring. With his teeth.

The sensation of _that_ nearly blew Sherlock's mind. "Fuck, My! What the hell are you doing down there?"

Mycroft looked up at him with the cock ring still between his teeth, and smiled.

"You win. You win everything. Please My, just fuck me already. I just want to feel you inside me."

Mycroft reached over and grabbed the lube, suddenly nervous and trying like hell not to show it. The fact that he was going to be, as he'd so indelicately put it earlier, the 'first person to plough that gorgeous arse' was a little bit intimidating. _Alright, massively intimidating_. The fact that it was Sherlock increased the intimidation level by at least one order of magnitude, and possibly two. It was a good thing no one had told his cock. He squeezed out some lube and warmed it between his hands. He gently slid one long, slim finger inside Sherlock.

"Oh…"

"You okay?"

"Yes. Yes, more."

"Oh, we'll get there. I'll be shoving my cock up your arse in no time. But we're going to work up to it." He worked his finger slowly in and out a few times before adding a second.

Sherlock's eyes got wider and he sort of gasped.

"Relax and breathe…" He could feel Sherlock's muscles start to relax after a couple seconds. "Still doing okay?"

"Mm."

He pushed his fingers back in, up to the second knuckle this time, and gently curled them as he pulled back, hitting Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock practically levitated. "Fucking hell, My! What was that?"

"Your prostate."

"No, I know what it was. Christ. Nevermind… if I'd known it felt that good, I would have been shoving things up my arse years ago."

Mycroft couldn't help himself and giggled. It was very un-Mycroft-like to giggle, but he didn't care. He was enjoying himself. He was going to allow it. "Want me to do it again?"

"That has to be the stupidest question I've ever heard."

He did it again. This time, there was less cursing and a lot more moaning. A third finger generated no comment and slid right in. _Alright, this is going well._ He was worrying less about hurting him and his nervousness had vanished.

Sherlock was actively thrusting himself onto Mycroft's fingers now, trying to get them deeper. Whenever Mycroft hit his prostate, Sherlock's breath would catch in his throat and it felt like small explosions were ripping through his body. Very pleasant small explosions. "C'mon, My. I'm ready. I want you inside me. Please."

Sherlock clearly wasn't sure what to do with his legs. He was sort of moving them around, quizzically. Mycroft grabbed one and put it on his shoulder as he lined himself up. He slowly pressed in and felt the hot, tight slide of it around his cock. "Oh god, Sherlock."

Sherlock's mouth was wide and his eyes had fluttered closed, clearly focused on the sensation of it.

"You okay?"

Sherlock nodded, faintly. "Yes. Good. Keep going."

"Keep breathing."

"Right. I keep forgetting."

Mycroft knew what he meant. He kept forgetting as well. He was completely inside Sherlock now. _God, he's tight. I hope this feels as good for him as it does for me._

Sherlock opened his eyes, very wide, and looked at his brother.

"What's wrong?" Mycroft asked, a little worried.

"Nothing. I just don't want to miss any of it. So much sensation. I didn't realise I'd closed my eyes. I want to watch you fuck me."

Mycroft wasn't sure why, but the words 'I want to watch you fuck me' completely undid him. "Oh, god, Sherlock. I want to fuck you halfway into next week."

"Stop worrying about hurting me and do it. I want it hard, Mycroft. I want to feel you fucking me."

Mycroft took a deep breath, curled Sherlock's other leg around his waist, and started to move. It felt incredible.

Sherlock discovered he could use the leg around Mycroft's waist to give himself more leverage, and, well, to say he was enthusiastic would have been an understatement. He soon had Mycroft pounding into him like his life depended on it.

Mycroft had been secretly pleased to discover that Sherlock was not a quiet lover. He loved every little moan and cry coming from Sherlock's lips. Sherlock had been keeping up a steady rhythm of grunts and moans for a while now. Mycroft had added his own moans and rarely-uttered obscenities to the chorus, and things had gotten stuck in a rather glorious sensory feedback loop.

The volume was definitely at the point of "waking up the entire school," had there been any school to wake up. Sherlock, as he kept heatedly telling Mycroft, was about to come. There were also a lot of gods involved, if anyone was taking things literally.

To Mycroft's great satisfaction, Sherlock did, in fact, come so hard that he screamed – not like a girl mind you – more like an enthusiastic baritone. It was more of an 'Ngghhhh' that, regardless of tone, could be heard for some distance. Mycroft came a few moments later, slightly more quietly, but with no less enthusiasm.

In retrospect, neither could be sure who started giggling first, but it really didn't matter. They just laid there in the grass for a bit, giggling and kissing like idiots. After years of tension and bickering, it was refreshing.

"You don't really have to get a job right away, do you, My? Stay at home with me for the summer, at least."

Mycroft had just pulled the towel out from underneath Sherlock and was trying to clean them up a bit. "Mummy's already left for the south of France. It _would_ be nice, just the two of us." He smiled at him, happier than he'd been in years. "I think I'd rather enjoy being a shiftless layabout for a while."

"I suppose I'll go to university in the autumn. One of them should take me."

Mycroft huffed. "I don't think there's any question about that. You're brilliant, and you're a Holmes. I think you'd enjoy it – well, parts of it at least. Some of the people are insufferable prats, but I'm sure you can compete with the best of them." He smiled at Sherlock.

"Do you think we can get away with sleeping together this summer, My?"

"God, I certainly hope so. I didn't want this to be a one-time thing."

"No, not like that. Do you think we'll be able to get away with sleeping in the same room?"

Mycroft thought for a few moments. "You know, I really don't see why not. The staff is minimal at the moment, just Cook, the gardener, and the maid. I think we can pay them off. It'll be worth it."

"Mm. Whose room should we stay in?"

"Mine. I'm older, and I have a nicer bed. Besides, it's a four-poster – I can tie you to it." He rolled over on top of Sherlock and pinned his arms to the ground. "You know you'd like that. You've got a submissive streak in you a mile wide, you little tease."

Sherlock reached up and nipped at his lip. "I was hoping you'd spend the summer fucking me senseless and showing me exactly what I _do_ like."

"Hm. It sounds like a full-time job, but I'm sure I can handle it. I've kept you in line before."

"Not well, I have to point out," Sherlock giggled.

"Well, no. But I do have additional leverage now." Mycroft kissed him again and tightened his grip on Sherlock's wrists. "We also have a complete set of horse tack in our stables, you know. I think I'd quite like to ride you sometime."

"Perhaps you could get out the crop…" Sherlock sounded hopeful.

"You do have quite the pain kink, don't you brother-mine?" He reached down and gently bit the side of Sherlock's neck, eliciting a small groan. He could feel Sherlock already hard again beneath him. He ground his hips suggestively against this brother. "I doubt there's any way I can come again tonight, but if you're interested in fucking me senseless, I'd certainly be amenable…" The mere thought of his brother's cock in his arse was making him hard. _Surely, it can't be possible to come three times in one evening. Perhaps I just haven't been doing it right._

"God, Mycroft, you're the only person I know who can use 'fucking me senseless' and 'amenable' in the same sentence."

Mycroft cut in. "But do you want to?"

"I believe my ridiculously hard cock pressing against your stomach should be all the answer you need, dear brother. Just tell me where you want me."

Mycroft kissed him hard, and said "I want you to fuck me from behind. Hard. No preparation. Just lube and your cock in my arse."

Sherlock swallowed. "I don't know what it is about you swearing, My, but it's fucking sexy as hell. Get on your knees."

Mycroft wasted no time in doing so.

"Hard, huh?" Sherlock's voice was breathy with anticipation. "You sure?"

"God, yes. Hard and rough."

Sherlock quickly slicked himself up and positioned himself behind Mycroft. With one hand on the front of Mycroft's thigh and the other on his waist, he pushed into his brother. He buried himself balls-deep in one long push. _So fucking tight._

"Fuck, Sherlock. Yes. Move."

Sherlock pulled almost all the way out and slammed back into him, the force of it almost overbalancing them both. "God, My… I had no idea."

Mycroft had to think about what Sherlock meant for a moment. _Oh right. First time._ "Enjoying it?"

Sherlock pounded into him. "You." Thrust. "Have no." Thrust. "Idea."

 _I think I might._ Mycroft gasped as Sherlock reached around and grasped his cock, the force of his thrusts pushing it through his fist. "Oh, yes. Like that."

Sherlock bent over him and hissed in his ear. "You like me fucking you, don't you, My? You've been thinking about this for a while. As much as you like being in control, you like having it taken away sometimes, don't you?"

 _Well, that's one talk we won't have to have._ Mycroft smiled. "Yes. Yes to it all. Hurt me, Sherlock. Please?"

"Oooh. Yes." Sherlock's fingernails raked forcefully down his back as he continued fucking Mycroft senseless.

"Oh, fuck Sherlock. Fuck…" The sensation sent him over the edge, and Mycroft was coming, almost painfully, for the third time that evening.

Sherlock felt his brother's arse clenching around his cock and moaned. "Can I… keep going? Almost there…"

Mycroft smiled at the politeness of the request. "Of course, Sherlock." He was basking in the afterglow and was quite happy to let Sherlock fuck him into oblivion.

It didn't take long. Sherlock let out a loud moan (not _quite_ as loud as the last time), and dug his fingers into Mycroft's hips as he came deep inside him. It took him a minute to speak. "Bloody hell, My. That was amazing. Thank you." They were lying next to each other now, both recovering from their orgasms.

"I assure you, the pleasure was also mine."

"Did I hurt your back?"

"Mmm. Only in the nicest of ways. Thank you."

They did their best with the already-used towel, which just provoked another round of giggles. Apparently sex made Mycroft giggly. Sherlock was pretty sure that was the _only_ thing that made Mycroft giggly.

They lay there on the manicured grounds of the school – giggly and happy and wrapped around each other – and watched the sun slowly rise through the woods in the distance.


	5. Roleplaying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the village, and Mycroft's last day as "Headmaster."

Although the June night had been warm, by the time the sun came up even their shared body heat wasn't enough to keep them from getting cold. They headed back to the Headmaster's cottage and ran the shower as hot as they could stand it. Both of them were too tired and completely fucked-out to try anything.

They'd rolled into the small bed together, trying to ignore the sun that was now streaming through the flimsy curtains. They hadn't slept in the same bed since they were children. Sherlock had often crawled into bed with Mycroft after bad dreams or particularly bad days. He'd always had fond memories of sleeping with his brother. This certainly added another dimension to it. As Sherlock pressed up against Mycroft's warm skin, he whispered "Thank you" into his brother's ear.

They both awoke sometime around noon, surprisingly refreshed. As they lay there, Mycroft got a strange look on his face. "Weren't you expected home yesterday?"

"I already phoned and told them I'd be coming home with you. If it had gone badly, I could have taken the train today."

"Aren't you the practical one. Where are the rest of your things?"

"Behind the pub in the village. I'd like to stop and get them on the way back."

"Oh, we'll be getting them before then."

"Oh?"

"You're no longer my student, but you're going to wear that uniform one more time." Mycroft's voice held a slight edge as he rolled over and pinned his brother to the bed.

Sherlock's gut went molten as Mycroft pushed his thigh against his groin.

"Unless you want a ride to the village in your dressing gown, we have to get your other clothes first. I'm assuming there are some back at the dormitory?"

"Can't you go and get them for me, My?"

"I don't think so, little brother. I plan on taking every advantage of my last day as Headmaster."

Mycroft reached down and rummaged through the bag next to the bed, retrieving the belt from the dressing gown. He sat back on Sherlock's legs, keeping him pinned to the bed. "You're awfully aroused, dear brother." Mycroft stroked the full length of his brother's cock with one long, elegant hand.

Sherlock simply laid there, his breathing shallow. It never even occurred to him to protest as Mycroft used the dressing gown belt to encircle his balls. One more wrap and it circled his cock as well. Mycroft tied it off, not too tightly but definitely snug.

"Not a movement out of you, Sherlock." Mycroft slid off the bed and started to get dressed in his Headmaster's uniform. He took his time, even putting on his tie. His eyes were on Sherlock the entire time, greedily taking in the sight of his body, laid out on the bed, naked except for the leash around his cock and balls. Sherlock returned his gaze with unabashed lust. If anything, Sherlock was only getting harder. The same was true for Mycroft.

"Let's go for a walk, brother-mine." Mycroft's voice was filled with delicious longing as he tugged lightly on the makeshift leash.

Sherlock slid off the bed and stood quietly beside his fully dressed brother.

"Come along." Mycroft took the leash and started walking. As he strode out into the lovely sunny day, he almost wished there were people around. The thought of getting caught with his brother like this excited him.

Although Mycroft didn't know it, Sherlock was having similar thoughts. Besides the thrill of being caught with Mycroft, he was enjoying the added thrill of being naked in public. There was nothing humiliating about it. He wanted Mycroft to show him off like this. He would have let Mycroft fuck him in the middle of the village square if Mycroft had wanted it.

They made their way across the deserted grounds to the dormitory. "How long did it take you to pick the lock, Sherlock?"

"Seconds."

Mycroft smiled. "Best birthday present I ever gave you, weren't they?"

"Yes, and certainly the most useful. Thank you, My."

"Headmaster."

"Thank you, Headmaster."

Mycroft led him up to his room in the dormitory. "Get dressed, but only from the waist up."

Sherlock spun his head around to look at Mycroft. "What?"

"Don't make me tell you again."

Sherlock put on his shirt. _Perhaps Mycroft_ is _going to fuck me in the village square._ The thought of _that_ made his knees weak.

Mycroft left the leash in place and led his partially clothed brother back down the stairs, taking a clean towel from the linen cupboard on the way. "Let's go and get your uniform, shall we?" His looked positively predatory as he smiled at his younger brother.

Mycroft laid the towel on the leather passenger seat of the Audi. "In you go, then."

Sherlock's mind was at war with his body. _This would be humiliating if I wasn't so fucking turned on._ Seated, his shirttails barely skimmed the tops of his thighs. He was hard enough that his erection was firmly against his stomach. It wasn't as obvious as it could have been. The leash trailed embarrassingly from between his legs down to a heap on the floor.

"Tell me where your clothes are."

"In a small suitcase, behind the pub."

"You'll wait in the car while I retrieve them. Do _try_ not to draw attention to yourself."

Mycroft parked as close to the pub as he could, which was to say, not close enough. Sherlock started to protest. "Perhaps we could circle and see if something opens up…"

Mycroft cut him off with a glance. "I hope you can sustain that erection, dear brother. As it is, people will think you've forgotten your trousers. I'd hate for them to realise you forgot your pants as well." He shut off the car. "I don't suppose you'll be going anywhere…?"

"I don't suppose I will, Headmaster." Sherlock was still torn between the sheer humiliation of being half-naked in the middle of the village and how incredibly aroused he was by this. Part of him, admittedly not a very rational part, wanted Mycroft to pull him roughly from the car and fuck him senseless up against the car door while everyone in the village watched.

As Mycroft made his way to the pub, Sherlock sat in the car, trying his hardest to pretend like everything was completely normal. _Don't draw attention. Of course I'm supposed to be sitting here with no trousers on._

The village was relatively empty for a Friday morning. It was mostly women out getting the shopping or taking their children out in the pram.

Sherlock scanned the road, trying to see who would be passing their car. He wasn't worried about other cars – they would be going by too fast. It was the pedestrians he was worried about. The only person who seemed close enough was a young woman with two toddlers. They were on foot – she was pushing the empty pram – so they weren't moving very quickly. They were only a couple hundred metres from the car though.

Sherlock looked over towards the pub, wondering where Mycroft could be. _Surely he'll have it by now._ He realised with horror that Mycroft was _having a conversation_ with someone.

Mycroft, for his part, hadn't _actually_ intended to run into the vicar, although he was sure Sherlock would claim otherwise.

"Good morning, Headmaster. Lovely to see you. Not gone home for the summer holidays yet?"

"Good morning, Vicar. No, but I'll be leaving soon."

"Good term, was it?"

"Yes, very good. A fine bunch of lads." He made sure _not_ to glance in Sherlock's direction. The last thing he needed was the Vicar looking over there.

"Good, good. Well, I'm off to get my eggs. Lovely to see you."

"And you, Vicar. Have a lovely summer." He smiled, beatifically.

As the Vicar ambled off, Mycroft tried to look like he wasn't making a bolt for the back of the pub.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was getting panicky, scanning the car for anything he could use to cover himself. _I could use the towel, but that would look just as odd as no trousers._ The woman was getting closer. _A newspaper. Anything._ There was nothing. _Mycroft's damnable neatness._ She was getting closer to the car now. _She's definitely going to pass the car before Mycroft gets back. Fuck. Think._ She was close now. _Perhaps if I smile now and break off eye contact, she'll do the same. Hopefully she's not the chatty type. She can't see anything below my chest from where she is now._ He smiled and then looked away, distractedly. She returned the smile and was then distracted by one of her children making a fuss. _Oh, thank god._ She continued her inexorable walk towards the car. The child had calmed down. _She's going to look into the car. Think. THINK._ It occurred to him in a flash, and he bent over double in the seat, as if tying his shoe. He was careful not to let his shirt ride up his back. A view of his arse would be just as bad, if not worse, than the questions about his bare legs. She walked past, without comment.

As soon as she had passed, the panic left him, and Sherlock felt the rush of adrenaline hit him all at once. It made him positively giddy. _Sit still. Wait for My. For god's sake, sit still._

Mycroft found the bag without incident and made his way back to the car, trying to look as unobtrusive as possible. He could see Sherlock in the car, practically vibrating. _Oh dear lord. What happened? It can't be anything bad if the stupid grin on his face is any indication._

Mycroft opened the car door and got inside. He looked pointedly at his brother's groin. "I'm impressed, Sherlock. I'd expected you to cover up with the towel, especially when that woman walked by."

"Can we please just get out of here before someone else comes along?" Sherlock was somewhere between giddy and irritated, the thrill of not getting caught still running through his veins.

Mycroft smiled at him and started the car. As they drove out of the village, Sherlock started giggling like an idiot. "God, My…"

"Headmaster," Mycroft interrupted him, starting to giggle a little himself.

"Right, 'Headmaster.' God, that was thrilling. I was sure she was going to see me."

"Why didn't you use the towel?" asked Mycroft.

"Well, the towel would have looked just as odd as bare legs, wouldn't it?"

"What did you do? Surely you didn't just sit there?"

"No, I strategically made eye contact and then bent down to tie my 'shoe.'"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, impressed.

Sherlock continued, "And what the actual fuck, Mycroft? You stopped to talk _to the Vicar?_ " His voice was completely incredulous.

"Well, no. Technically, he stopped to talk to me."

And then Sherlock was back to giggling again. Mycroft reached one hand over as he drove, feeling Sherlock's erection still solid under his shirt.

Sherlock moaned at the touch.

"If you're still enjoying your little encounter with exhibitionism, perhaps you should give that some more air." Mycroft's voice was low and a little rough.

"Perhaps _you_ should do that, _Headmaster._ "

For a brief moment, Mycroft thought Sherlock meant for him to take out his own straining erection. Then he realised what Sherlock meant and grasped Sherlock's aching cock underneath his shirt. That made them both suck for air. Mycroft pulled Sherlock's length from beneath the confines of his shirt and let it rest back on top of the white cotton. It was dark – a deep pink that contrasted with the rest of his pale skin.

Mycroft let go of his brother's cock long enough to change gears. When he glanced back, Sherlock was already stroking himself in long, steady pulls.

"Sherlock! Hands off! That is _mine_ to do with as I please."

Sherlock removed his hand and looked at his brother with an expression of pure lust. "What, exactly, did you plan on doing with it?"

"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps I'll just leave you like that and see how long it takes you to come from a caning alone."

Sherlock gasped, and his cock visibly twitched. _Oh. OH. Oh fucking hell, why is that so hot? Now I understand the Headmaster thing he's been playing at all day._

Back at the school, Mycroft got out of the car and opened the door for Sherlock. He picked up the leash and the suitcase and led his brother, still half-naked and completely hard, into the main house.

As they strode through the empty halls of the building, Mycroft's shoes echoed on the stone floors of the old manor house. Sherlock, still bare-footed, padded along beside him. They were going back to the Headmaster's office, one last time.

Mycroft opened the heavy wooden door and Sherlock stepped inside. He set the small suitcase on one of the wooden guest chairs. He pulled Sherlock close by tugging on his leash. "Take off your shirt."

Sherlock fumbled with the buttons.

"Now, boy! Don't make me wait." The new, sharp tone to Mycroft's voice signalled a change in the proceedings.

Sherlock's stomach did odd things at the new sobriquet and the new tone. He clumsily removed the shirt and let it drop to the floor.

With deft fingers, Mycroft undid the leash that had been in place for so long. Sherlock moaned at the sensations flooding his cock.

"Silence, boy! Get your uniform from your suitcase and get dressed. Do you understand me?"

Mycroft's voice was commanding, and it made Sherlock weak in the knees. "Yes, Headmaster." He hurried over to the suitcase and began rummaging around for the pieces of his uniform. He did not share Mycroft's penchant for neatness, and he'd thrown everything in the case in his haste to leave the day before.

Mycroft watched Sherlock's gorgeous bare arse as he fumbled for his uniform. He'd never been _this_ sort of Headmaster – the sort feared and loathed by his students. He abhorred dealing out punishment, and he'd rarely been forced to cane anyone. Sherlock had been one of his only problem students. _Role-playing the Evil Headmaster though – that was something else entirely._

Sherlock found a pair of pants and stepped into them. His erection was embarrassingly prominent, but he suspected that wasn't important. The shirt was next, followed by the trousers, the tie, and the jacket. He put these on with his back to Mycroft, but he had to sit down to put on the socks and the shoes. When he turned around, Mycroft stood there, just completely _dominating_ the room.

"Sir…"

"Hurry up, boy. I don't have all day."

Sherlock sat in the chair and hastily put on his socks and shoes.

"Stand here, in front of me." Sherlock stood in front of him, his head bowed. "Why are you here, boy?"

"To be punished, Headmaster."

"For what infraction?"

"For torturing my brother, sir."

 _Oh fuck. I didn't see that coming. Keep going…_ "Very well. You shall be caned until you've learned your lesson." _Or until you come all over the front of my desk, whichever comes first._

"I have a different suggestion, sir."

"Oh, do you?" Mycroft's voice was incredulous. "I'm not in the habit of taking suggestions from delinquent students, boy."

"Are you in the habit of being aroused by their punishment, sir?" Sherlock was staring at Mycroft's groin with a greedy look.

 _Oh, Sherlock… You want to go there? I'll be more than happy to._ Mycroft slapped Sherlock's face – not hard, but hard enough to startle him. "I'll have no more out of you. On your knees, boy."

Sherlock dropped to his knees, looking only too happy to be there.

"Oh, you enjoy this, do you? We'll see about that." Mycroft undid his belt and unzipped his trousers, letting them drop to the floor. He pulled his silk boxers down, letting his impressive erection free. "Let's see what that insolent mouth of yours can do…" He grabbed Sherlock's hair with one hand and his erection with the other. Without warning, he pushed his cock roughly into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock found himself almost gagging as Mycroft's cock was suddenly there, filling his mouth beyond possibility. He did his best to make an effort, but there wasn't a lot he could do, so he knelt there and took it.

Mycroft, his fist still in Sherlock's hair, pulled Sherlock off his cock. "What do you think of that, boy? Are you ready for your caning now?"

"No, sir, I think I'd like some more."

"Oh really? That wasn't enough for you? You're quite the little cock-tease." He pushed Sherlock against the wall rather forcefully and pinned him there. Holding him there with one hand, he almost tore off Sherlock's jacket and threw it to the floor. He loosened Sherlock's tie but left it on. "I don't fuck my students, boy. But if I expel you, you're no longer my student. Now tell me, do you want the cane, or do you want my cock in your arse?"

Sherlock gave him a lascivious smile. "Perhaps you could cane me and then expel me… sir."

Mycroft actually ripped the shirt off him, buttons flying in all directions. He knew Sherlock would never wear it again anyway. He left the tie on. "Trousers and pants off. Now."

Sherlock complied, hastily toeing off his shoes. He stood there in his socks and his tie – his raging erection dark against his pale body.

Mycroft almost giggled. He found the socks incredibly endearing, but he didn't want to say anything. "Bend over the desk, boy. Hands in front of you."

Sherlock swung his hips as little as he walked to the desk. He knew Mycroft was watching his arse. Bending over the desk, he spread his legs, giving Mycroft an excellent view of his arse and his balls.

Mycroft smiled to himself. _Two can play at that game._ He grabbed the cane from beside the desk. Placing it between Sherlock's legs, he gently ran it along his balls and up the crack of his arse, lingering slightly as the tip of the cane passed over his tight hole. As he heard Sherlock suck in his breath, Mycroft quickly delivered the first stinging blow.

Sherlock moaned.

Mycroft smiled to himself. _At least I've done this part before._ He kept his strokes light enough to leave marks but not welts. It was a long drive back to the manor, and he didn't want Sherlock to _actually_ have to suffer.

"Tell me when you've learned your lesson, boy." Mycroft wanted to give Sherlock an excuse to stop the caning if it got to be too much. _If he really does want to be caned until he comes, that's one thing. If he just wants a quick caning and then a fuck, that's another entirely. There's always time this summer to explore the limits of pain if he really wants to do that._

Sherlock moaned again as the cane left its delicious sting on his arse. The stings read as pain for a fraction of a second but were quickly replaced by a rush of pleasure. He lost count of the strokes and was starting to get lost in the endorphin haze flooding his brain. "Sir… I think… I think I'm incorrigible, sir. I think you're going to have to expel me."

"Are you sure, boy? If I expel you, I'll be forced to fuck that insolence out of you. I can't have you going to another school with that attitude."

"Yes, sir. Please, sir."

As tempting as it was to thrust right in, Mycroft was all too aware that this was only Sherlock's second time being penetrated. Mycroft grabbed the lube from the pocket of his jacket and squeezed some onto his fingers. Leaning over his brother, he hissed into his ear as he slowly worked his fingers inside Sherlock's tight arse. "You've been a very naughty schoolboy. Do you see what you've reduced me to? I've never had to punish anyone like this. I do believe you _are_ incorrigible. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying every second of this."

Sherlock pushed his arse back up against Mycroft's hand, trying to get his fingers in deeper. "Yes, sir."

Mycroft already had three fingers deep inside Sherlock's arse. _That seems like enough._ Mycroft pulled them out and slicked up his straining cock. Role-playing or not, he was aching to bury himself inside his brother.

Mycroft lined up behind him and pushed himself inside. _He's tight, but I don't think I'm hurting him._

"I think you need to fuck me harder, sir."

 _Ah, Sherlock. Your communication skills are excellent._ He pulled almost all the way back out and then thrust his hips back in quickly, his skin contacting Sherlock's freshly caned arse.

Sherlock made a noise that was somewhere between a throaty moan and an ecstatic scream. "Again – harder!"

Mycroft wasn't actually sure how long he could sustain this sort of pace. He braced himself and proceeded to fuck his brother through the desk. Each time he thrust in, his body slammed roughly against Sherlock's tender arse, and it seemed to be driving Sherlock insane with pleasure. Mycroft grabbed Sherlock's curls and pulled his head back. "You enjoy it rough, don't you, boy?"

"Yes…" Mycroft slammed into him again and Sherlock paused. "Sir…"

Mycroft let go of his hair and tugged lightly on the back of his tie as he thrust in, wondering if Sherlock had ever tried breath play.

"Ngghhhh… yes…"

Mycroft took that as a positive sign and pulled a little harder.

"God, don't stop. Feels amazing…" Sherlock sounded almost euphoric.

Mycroft held on to the tie as he fucked him, careful not to pull too tightly.

When Sherlock first felt the pressure on his neck, his body had tensed – a primal response to lack of breath. Once he realised he could still breathe freely – it was just restricted – he'd relaxed into it as Mycroft fucked him. The effect was hard to describe. _Everything is sort of fuzzy around the edges. Warm. Heightened._ The added sensation, even without stimulation to his cock, was enough to send him plummeting over the edge.

"Fuck, My… oh… coming…" Sherlock was shuddering through his orgasm beneath his brother, his muscles clenching around Mycroft. He let go of the tie and fucked Sherlock to his own completion, a few strokes later. Sherlock was barely done with his own orgasm, it had been so powerful.

Mycroft bent over the desk on top of Sherlock, bracing himself so Sherlock wouldn't have to take his weight. He moved Sherlock's dark curls to the side, and gently kissed the spot on his neck he'd been torturing the night before. He licked at it, tasting the salt and the sweat. Mycroft murmured into Sherlock's neck. "You're perfect, you know. Utterly perfect."

Mycroft pulled out of Sherlock as they stood up, eliciting a moan from both of them. Sherlock turned to face him, a lazy smile on his face. "Well, that was fun, My."

"Indeed it was, little brother. I'm impressed – you stayed in character right up until the very end."

"What do you mean, 'until?'"

Mycroft smiled. "You said my name when you came – not 'sir.' I thought it was lovely, actually." He reached over and pulled Sherlock close, kissing him languorously. They were both a sticky mess, but neither of them cared.

"Did I leave any welts from the caning?" Mycroft rubbed his hand over Sherlock's arse, feeling for any cane marks. He didn't find any.

"No, I think you need to try harder next time." Sherlock gave him a devilish smile.

"I didn't want you to suffer on the drive home, Sherlock."

"You're such a considerate Evil Headmaster."

"And you're such an incorrigible student, Sherlock. Honestly, it's probably for the best they don't cane anyone in university. I can only imagine the trouble you'd deliberately get yourself into. I'll be happy to take on the responsibility, though – purely as my civic duty, of course."

"Mm. Of course. Shower? Can we go back to your cottage?"

"Of course, love. Do you want to get dressed or just use your dressing gown? It's still here from last night."

While Sherlock got his dressing gown, Mycroft made a cursory attempt at cleaning up the mess on the side of his desk. _I'll clean up more later. There are still buttons all over the floor._

Mycroft pulled on his pants and trousers, not even bothering to tuck them in. In another life, Mycroft would have been horrified by his sartorial crimes, but at the moment, he was just happy to be with his brother.

They wandered back across the empty grounds to the cottage, not talking much, content to be in each other's company.

While they were in the shower together – a tight fit but a pleasant one – something occurred to Mycroft. "Sherlock, you realise I'm not always like this, right? I mean, I'm not always dominant and into role-playing and all that. I just realised you don't have many data points for this, and we've been playing games for so long…" he trailed off.

Sherlock leaned over and kissed him, tenderly. The hot water ran over their faces as they explored each other's mouths. When Sherlock pulled away, he had a smile on his face. "Does that mean I get to tie _you_ up sometimes, My?"

"Any time you want, little brother. You do understand though, right? Sometimes we can just fuck each other senseless without any other layers of meaning? Well, other than the obvious one."

"I love you, too, My." Sherlock smiled at the roundabout sentiment.

They collapsed on the bed for a well-earned nap. Later, suddenly ravenous, they raided the kitchen in the main house for the remains of the food Cook had left for Mycroft. They even tidied up the Headmaster's office a bit, so it didn't reek of sex.

As the day turned into evening, they wandered around the lovely grounds of the school one last time. Sherlock fucked Mycroft up against the outer wall of the greenhouse where the genetically-modified laxative tomatoes were grown.

The next morning, with all the buildings locked and the keys left with a caretaker in the village, they headed back to Holmes manor.


	6. Pony Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little pony play at the stables.

"Wake up, Sherlock. We're going riding this morning." Mycroft was dressed in full fox hunting apparel and standing by the bed.

They'd only been home a couple of days. The staff had accepted their unconventional sleeping arrangements without comment. Mycroft was sure there had been plenty of comment behind closed doors, but he was unconcerned.

Sherlock groaned sleepily in response. "Mmff. We don't even keep horses any more. You know that."

Mycroft waited another second for the other shoe to drop.

"Oh. Ohhh…" Sherlock practically sprang out of the bed in enthusiasm. "Where?"

"The stables. Where else? Wear anything you want. It won't be on long."

Mycroft grabbed the ubiquitous black toy bag and strode out of the room, leaving Sherlock fumbling to keep up.

Sherlock threw on a shirt and some cotton trousers and slipped into some shoes. He ran after his brother, who had disappeared down the long, panelled hallway. A very small part of his mind told him not to look so damned desperate, but he'd been thinking about this since Mycroft had put that bit gag in his mouth.

He caught up with Mycroft halfway to the stables. "You didn't wait, Mycroft." Sherlock's tone was mildly accusatory.

"I knew you'd follow." Mycroft turned and gave him a satisfied smile. "I knew you'd want this. Am I wrong?" Mycroft glanced pointedly at his trousers.

"You don't know that."

"You're here, and you're clearly interested. I think I know _exactly_ what you want. And I think you want that bit between your teeth again. If you're a good little horsey, I have a couple of other surprises in store for you."

Sherlock bristled. _Good little horsey?_ He briefly considered storming back to the house in a huff.

Mycroft raised one eyebrow. "Well?" The 'horsey' comment was intended to provoke his brother. Mycroft wanted to see how much Sherlock was willing to put up with to get this.

"Fine." Sherlock tried to feign disinterest. He failed – it wasn't an easy sentiment to pull off with a visibly growing erection.

Mycroft continued towards the stables without looking back. He cut quite the dashing figure in his black jacket and white riding breeches. His black leather boots glistened with dew from the wet, early morning grass.

The stables were dry and smelled pleasantly of fresh straw. Mycroft had spoken with James, the gardener, almost as soon as they'd returned. James had complied without question – that's what he was paid for, after all. The fact that the stables were empty was really none of his business, although it certainly fed the rumour mill around the kitchen table.

It was still relatively cool, but the morning sun was quickly warming the air. Mycroft started inspecting the saddles and tack lining the walls. "Undress, Sherlock." He didn't even look at his brother.

Sherlock knew this situation would involve his submission, but he wasn't used to Mycroft not treating him with kid gloves. He was secretly thrilled by the sensations it produced low in his stomach.

Mycroft actually _was_ wearing kid gloves – beautiful black ones. Each time before he put them on, he pressed them to his face and inhaled deeply. He loved the powerful aroma of the leather and everything it represented. He'd be leaving them on, at least for as long as was practical.

They'd both grown up riding. They were Holmeses. It was expected that they know how to ride and go on a fox hunt, as anachronistic as that was in today's world.

Mycroft had realised in his early teens that the smell of leather made him weak in the knees. The rest of the family just thought he was an avid rider, but in reality, it was the stables he craved – the time before and after the riding. He'd lost his virginity to David, one of their stable boys. It wasn't that he'd been particularly attracted to him, but it was something about the stables, and the smell of the leather, and David had been more than willing to be fucked by the eldest son in the empty stall. Even after he'd left home, Mycroft had kept his riding crop with him – not because he expected to go riding, but because it was one of his most beloved possessions.

Mycroft was lost in fond memories as he ran his hands over the well-used bridles and saddles. A sound behind him brought him back to the present, and he turned around to see Sherlock standing naked in front of him. Mycroft smiled. "Kneel."

Sherlock knelt on the dirt floor and sat back on his bare feet.

Reaching into the black bag, Mycroft removed a large, stainless steel anal plug. Cascading down from the centre of it was a long, gorgeous horse tail.

Sherlock had clearly never seen it before and gasped slightly. Mycroft removed a bottle of lubricant from the bag and handed both items down to Sherlock. "Horses have tails, Sherlock. Please prepare yourself."

Sherlock started to say something, but was cut off by the slight raise of Mycroft's brow.

He looked up at Mycroft, towering over him. He hadn't seen him in riding gear for years. _It's probably for the best. I don't think I've ever seen him look quite this… um…_ words failed him, and he just swallowed. He looked back down at the tail as if the answers were there. It was solid steel and very heavy for its size. Sherlock held it carefully as he tipped some lubricant into his hand and slowly spread it over the plug. He could feel Mycroft watching him.

With horror, Sherlock realised he would have to open himself up with his fingers before he could insert the plug. He looked at it again. _Perhaps if I could relax enough…_ but it wasn't even remotely possible. He looked up at Mycroft with a pleading expression.

"I'm waiting, Sherlock. You're in danger of boring me."

Sherlock gingerly placed the plug on the ground, wincing as the lubricated surface contacted the brown dust. _I'll have to clean that. I should have waited to lube it._ He quickly slicked up his fingers, raising himself up slightly on his knees. Mycroft was still watching him. Shamed by the thought of it, Sherlock closed his eyes as he inserted one finger into his own arse. He wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible, and he didn't want to see Mycroft watching him.

"No. Look at me, Sherlock."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up – up past freshly-shined boots, along lightly-muscled legs in white breeches, over those elegant hands sheathed in black leather, past the black wool riding jacket and white shirt. His eyes finally met Mycroft's and stayed there.

"Please continue."

Sherlock inserted a second finger somewhat roughly into his arse. _It's different when I'm by myself. It's just manual stimulation. It's not for Mycroft's entertainment._ That thought, horrifyingly, made his cock twitch. _Oh god. I'm getting off on this._ He fought to keep his eyes trained on Mycroft. The sensations in his arse were making it hard to concentrate and his eyes kept trying to flutter closed. Scissoring his fingers, he opened himself as quickly as possible. Mycroft clearly had no intentions of doing anything more until he was wearing the horse tail.

He broke eye contact long enough to look down and pick up the plug. There were small patches of brown dust where it had rested on the floor. The fingers of his other hand were still buried in his arse, teasing sensations from him.

"Clean it."

He brought the huge steel plug to his lips. It was too large to fit in his mouth, so he lapped gently at the dirty areas. He felt the slightly gritty sensation of the dust in his mouth. His eyes were back on Mycroft's now, Sherlock's own lust feeding on the raw hunger he saw there.

Sherlock pulled his fingers out and transferred the tail to that hand, sighing as he pressed the tip of it against his hole. The preparation had helped, but it was still huge. He breathed out hard and bore down. _Almost._ He took a couple deep breaths and did it again. This time it went all the way in; his muscles clamping down around the smaller section. He let out a shuddered gasp. _Oh, god. I can feel it, stretching me._ Despite his best efforts, he'd let his eyes close. He looked back up at Mycroft, who was now looking admiringly at the horse tail cascading from his arse to the dirt floor of the stable.

"Good boy. Up on your feet now. We don't want your tail getting all dusty, do we?" Mycroft spoke in soft, soothing tones. He reached into the bag and pulled out the silicone bit gag.

Mycroft tapped his fingers on Sherlock's lower jaw. "Open." He gently forced the bit between Sherlock's teeth and fastened the leather strap tightly behind Sherlock's head. "Good boy." He rubbed Sherlock's cheek soothingly with the backs of his gloved fingers.

The warm leather smell of the gloves filled Sherlock's nostrils and he leaned into Mycroft's touch. When Mycroft removed his hand, Sherlock adjusted his jaw to the intrusion of the bit. It tugged at the sides of his mouth, but it wasn't unpleasant.

Mycroft took a rein from the bag – similar to those on the wall, but with snap hooks at the ends. He attached these to the large metal rings on either side of the silicone bit. He let it trail down Sherlock's back as he retrieved one of the smaller English saddles from the wall.

Sherlock's eyes widened. _Surely he doesn't mean to…_

Mycroft did. "Hands and knees."

At this height, the tail was just the right length – it barely skimmed the ground. Mycroft hummed in approval. "Aren't you a beautiful animal? Hm… Don't worry, I'll take good care of you." He ran his hand soothingly down Sherlock's flank. "You haven't been saddled before, have you…"

Sherlock shook his head slightly. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to participate in this conversation.

Mycroft's hand running gently down his neck assured him his participation was welcome. "Don't worry, you'll like it. It'll let me _ride_ you. You'll enjoy that."

Sherlock shuddered at the thought of it, and Mycroft's hand was at his neck again.

"Easy, boy. Shhh. I might ride you hard, but I'll never put you away wet."

Sherlock nearly choked and struggled to regain his composure.

Mycroft picked up the saddle and gently placed it on Sherlock's back, cinching it across his stomach.

Sherlock had to adjust his position slightly – the saddle was heavier than he'd expected it to be. It rested nicely against the curve of his back, and he could feel the stirrups swinging against his sides.

"Good boy. You're doing so well. Do you like your saddle? Hm?" Mycroft gathered the reins up in one hand and let his other gloved hand drift appreciatively over Sherlock's lower back and arse. Sherlock bucked at the touch.

Mycroft jerked the reins hard, and Sherlock's neck was forced back. Mycroft's voice was suddenly hard. "See how this works? See how I control you with the reins?" Sherlock let out a moan.

Mycroft loosened the reins. "I just need to show you what happens when you're bad." Mycroft's voice was soothing again, almost hypnotic.

He walked over to the brushes and picked up a tail brush. Sherlock remained on his hands and knees as Mycroft slowly brushed out his tail. Each stroke – each tug of the brush – sent cascades of sensation through him as the large plug pushed against his arse from the inside. Mycroft made no effort to hold the plug in place – it was clear the effect was intended.

Sherlock let the sensations wash over him. There was no way he could do anything – no way for him to touch himself or relieve his lust. He took shallow breaths around the bit and prayed for something intense that he could really focus on. His brain suddenly caught up. Mycroft had already shown him, he just hadn't been paying attention. Sherlock jerked away from Mycroft, as if startled.

Mycroft smiled to himself as he pulled roughly back on the reins. _Now you're learning._ "If you're going to behave like that, I'm afraid I'll have to get out the crop." Sherlock's moan was audible, even around the bit.

Letting go of the reins, Mycroft walked over and retrieved his leather crop from the bag. It was a simple black leather crop, but it had been his for more than half his life, and he knew every inch of it. He was no stranger to its use on people – he had quite a taste for it on his own flesh – and he ached to use it on his younger brother.

He started to walk back towards Sherlock and then stopped, taken with a delicious idea. He turned around and walked to the end of the stables, where an open side door provided a view of the house. "Come to me, boy. Walk."

Sherlock tentatively started to crawl towards his older brother – a knee and the alternate hand moving forward together and then the other side repeating the movement. He could feel the slight movement of the saddle, snug against his back. The reins and the stirrups clinked and swung freely against him. What he didn't expect – what made it _so_ hard to focus that he kept _forgetting how to crawl_ – was the pleasure from the horse tail lodged deep in his arse. The size and weight of the plug ensured it hit his sweet spot each time he made another movement toward his brother. By the time he was halfway down the stables, he was halfway out of his mind.

Mycroft smiled at him, encouragingly. "Good boy. You can do it." He held out the crop like an offering. "Look what I have for you. This is what you want, isn't it?"

Sherlock's brain fought for control of his body as it tried to remember how to crawl. Again.

It wasn't until he was almost to his brother that Sherlock realised Mycroft was standing in the open doorway – the doorway that had a view of the house. For reasons he'd only recently started to understand, this only served to make him harder.

Mycroft ran the leather tongue of the crop gently along Sherlock's face and neck. Then he stood next to Sherlock and carefully placed one leg over Sherlock's back. He wasn't actually sitting in the saddle – his body barely rested against it – but it was enough pressure for Sherlock to know he was there.

Once again, he took hold of the reins with his left hand. Wrapping them around his hand, he firmly pulled Sherlock's head back towards him and nuzzled the creamy skin of Sherlock's neck. "You're such a good horse. You made it all the way down the stable, and here you are, all hard and gorgeous." He briefly reached below Sherlock's stomach and gave his neglected cock the lightest of touches. Sherlock reared. Mycroft let fly with the riding crop and heard it land with a delightful 'smack' on Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock moaned again.

"You know, you're awfully stimulated, you poor thing. If you do well with the crop training, perhaps I can do something about that. I can't have you in such a permanent state of…" he ran his hand over Sherlock's erection again – more firmly this time. "Excitement."

Mycroft was glad he was still wearing the jacket. It was doing an excellent job of hiding his obvious enjoyment of the proceedings. Ever since he'd watched Sherlock crawl slowly towards him, he'd been achingly hard. His brother had taken so well to this – better than he'd expected, truth be told.

Mycroft had previously adjusted the smallest saddle they owned so it would fit Sherlock's slim waist. It looked spectacular on him – it sat beautifully on the curve of his back and framed his gorgeous arse. The bit and the reins were proving to be excellent training tools. But the tail – _oh god, that tail_ – that was making him weak. He knew _exactly_ what it was doing to his brother. He'd experienced first-hand the pleasure Sherlock had felt as he'd crawled towards him. He _knew_ what sensations the plug produced when the tail was brushed.

After he'd left home to go to university, he'd missed the stables and the leather. He'd been young and hadn't felt comfortable bringing the subject up with his boyfriend – a lovely person, but Mycroft wasn't sure he'd understand his passion for horse tack. A discreet inquiry to the assistant of a _less_ than discreet Member of Parliament granted him his first session with a professional dominatrix. She'd taken him under her wing and mentored him.

Mycroft had been surprised to learn that pony play was quite a popular kink, especially with those who'd grown up riding. At her skilled hand, he'd discovered how much he loved the sensations of a bit between his teeth and a riding crop biting into his flesh. She'd given him contacts for people who made custom sex toys like the tail plug. He'd learned a lot from her – not about sex – sex wasn't her business. He'd learned about dominance and submission. He'd learned how to wield a crop without sending someone to A&E. He'd learned self-control and how to make someone beg.

At the moment, he was really glad he'd learned self-control, because that was the only thing keeping him from throwing Sherlock up against the wall and fucking him senseless.

His thoughts and Sherlock's reins firmly back in hand, he leaned close to Sherlock's ear and spoke as soothingly as his excited state would allow. "You want more, don't you, you gorgeous animal? You enjoy the sting of the crop on that creamy white flesh of yours."

Sherlock tried desperately to nod, as much as Mycroft's tight hold on the reins would allow.

Mycroft continued. "It's going to be difficult to train you if you enjoy this, you know. I supposed I'll just have to use the crop as positive reinforcement." He already knew Sherlock's brain was as strange as his own – that the pleasure and pain circuits were more than a little confused.

Still holding the reins, he dismounted his younger brother and stood beside him. He paused for a second to take in the lovely view and idly wondered if anyone at the house was doing the same.

"You may be as loud as you wish, Sherlock, but don't move." Mycroft held tightly to the reins as he swung the crop. The entire length of it contacted Sherlock's arse, not just the leather tip of the crop that had kissed it before.

Sherlock fought the urge to move as the crop hit him. The sting of it was quickly replaced by a warm buzz. His body tensed, anticipating the next blow. Mycroft still held the reins tightly. Sherlock was surprised by how much he liked that. It felt comforting, somehow – that he was in Mycroft's hands in a very literal sense. The crop sliced through the air again. Sherlock heard it before he felt it on his arse. Mycroft wasn't making the strokes light, but this wasn't a thrashing either. It was enough to get his blood racing – as if he needed it. It felt like he'd been hard for hours.

While Sherlock had shown excellent self-control throughout the session, Mycroft's own self-control was rapidly disintegrating. "Stay here." He released the reins and walked back to the black bag to retrieve some items. He walked back up to Sherlock, standing in front of him this time.

He knelt in front of his brother, the knees of his white breeches immediately soiled by the brown dust. He ran his gloved hands over Sherlock's face, murmuring praise and endearments. "You've done so well, my gorgeous one. It's time for your reward." Mycroft kissed Sherlock's forehead and sat back on his feet. Making sure Sherlock's eyes were on his, he slowly removed his gloves. He gently tugged at each of the fingertips with his teeth. After loosening them, he slowly used his other hand to pull them from his long, delicate fingers. He ran the gloves along the side of Sherlock's face. Sherlock pressed his face against the soft buttery leather, apparently enjoying the scent as much as Mycroft.

Sherlock watched him remove the gloves, entranced. He couldn't think of anything sexier than Mycroft taking off leather gloves with his teeth. Mycroft stood up and moved out of his field of vision. He could feel Mycroft take up the reins again, further back this time. Suddenly, he felt Mycroft behind him gently rubbing his arse, still sensitive from the crop. The plug was still huge and heavy inside him, but it had settled into position and wasn't actively torturing his prostate – not until Mycroft started teasing him with it.

Mycroft grabbed the base of the tail and angled it higher, grinding it against Sherlock's sweet spot. Sherlock moaned loudly around the bit. Mycroft pulled at it and moved it around, teasing him with the plug. He knew it wouldn't come free without serious effort – it was steeply flared to prevent easy removal.

Mycroft smiled diabolically as he took the reins and looped them underneath the base of the tail, knotting them at just the right length so they'd provide gentle constant pressure on both Sherlock's bit and his prostate. Sherlock, despite his training, started to squirm at the combination of delicious agony and pleasure. Mycroft stood back and watched as his brother worked himself into a frenzy. Each forward movement of Sherlock's head pushed the tail plug harder against his prostate. Each touch of his prostate caused his head to fly back in pleasure and released the pressure slightly. The bit and the reins were allowing Sherlock to fuck himself on the tail plug. It was a glorious thing to watch, and Mycroft revelled in it, palming his own erection through his britches.

When Sherlock was completely beside himself with pleasure, Mycroft knelt down behind his brother, pushing his body directly against Sherlock's. Mycroft was still fully dressed except for his now-naked hands. He sucked in a breath at the skin-on-skin contact as his hand grasped his brother's cock. Sherlock made some sort of incomprehensible groaning noise around the bit. "Look at you. Look at what a fine specimen you are. So virile." His other hand gently cupped Sherlock's testicles. "I think I'll need to oversee your breeding myself. Give it my personal attention." He slowly ran his hand along Sherlock's length and teasingly rubbed his thumb over the slick head. "Would you like that?" Another incomprehensible moan completely shattered Mycroft's remaining self-control.

Mycroft rocked back on his heels and stood, shucking his jacket and pulling his breeches down far enough to expose his painfully aching hard-on. He unhooked the reins from underneath the tail. With his left hand, he held them against Sherlock's lower back. "I'm going to remove the tail, Sherlock. You'll need to relax as much as you can. Nod if you understand."

Sherlock nodded. Mycroft gave him a couple seconds before he slowly but steadily removed the large toy. It came out more easily than he'd expected. _He's such a quick study. And oh, god, so ready._ The large plug had more than adequately prepared Sherlock for Mycroft's straining cock. He didn't even need the lubricant. One hand held the reins against Sherlock's arse, tight just to the point where they pulled Sherlock's head back. He used the other hand to line himself up, and he thrust forcefully inside his brother. He moaned as his brother's tight, wet heat finally surrounded him, Sherlock's hot skin pressed against his balls. Sherlock was pushing back against him, already demanding more contact.

One hand on the reins and the other at his brother's hip, he pounded into Sherlock with abandon. Sherlock eagerly met his thrusts and tilted his hips to allow Mycroft better access. Sherlock was still making delicious noises around the gag, and Mycroft was making delicious noises of his own. Neither of them was making noises that sounded remotely equine, but even Mycroft wasn't that much of a pedant.

As Mycroft approached orgasm, he fisted his brother's cock, sensing that Sherlock was as close as he was. With a sharp tug on the reins, he came hard, shuddering his release deep inside his brother. It was even stronger than normal and it left him lightheaded. Sherlock was not far behind him – Mycroft remained buried inside his brother as he brought Sherlock off with his hand. Sherlock's hot release covered his hand, dripping onto the dirt floor of the stables. Mycroft pulled out of his brother, his cock still sensitive so soon after his orgasm. He quickly pulled his breeches back up.

With his other hand, Mycroft quickly undid Sherlock's bit and removed it. He licked Sherlock's still-warm semen off his own hand, letting Sherlock watch him. "You know, Sherlock, the semen from a prize stallion can be worth more than gold." He smiled affectionately at his younger brother before kissing him, letting Sherlock taste himself as their tongues mingled.

Sherlock looked happily post-orgasmic, and Mycroft swiftly undid the saddle. As Sherlock stumbled somewhat hesitantly to his feet, Mycroft steadied him and guided him back against the wall of the stable. He supported him firmly as they kissed, Sherlock eventually content just to nuzzle Mycroft's neck and breathe him in.

"You did so well, Sherlock. You were magnificent."

Sherlock sighed contentedly into his shoulder. "Mm. Enjoyed it."

"Let's get you back to the house and get you cleaned up, love. Here, let me help you with your clothes." Mycroft gathered up Sherlock's clothes and gave them to him, putting the toys back in the bag. They could be cleaned later. The saddle was in remarkably good shape, and he placed it back on the wall.

"Mycroft?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think we could keep horses again – just for the summer? I'd like to go riding with you."

"I don't see why not. I'm sure we could find someone who'd like to stable them here, and it would be nice to get out again."

Sherlock smiled at Mycroft with a deliciously evil grin. "It would give us a lovely reason to spend more time in the stables, after all."

Mycroft pulled his brother in closer for a languorous kiss. "I think that would be a splendid use of our time, little brother."


	7. Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers spend the day in bed - Mycroft's bed.

The bed had been in the family for generations. It was large – massive, in all senses of the word. Mahogany, beautifully carved, and able to withstand a small earthquake without damage. The four posts were as thick as a man's thigh at the base, carved to the top with a spiral design that Sherlock used to trace his finger along.

The rails at the top were equally sturdy, capable of holding up the heavy tapestry curtains that had also been in the family for generations. Manor houses were cold and draughty – at least, they had been traditionally. It made sense to keep the warmth inside the bed. But these days, Holmes manor had central heating, and it wasn't like Mycroft and Sherlock were having any issues keeping the bed warm.

As a child, Sherlock had always considered Mycroft's bed to be his own private fort. When Mycroft was away at boarding school, Sherlock would crawl up onto it, close the curtains, and pretend he was miles away from the stuffy old house and the painful silences between his parents. He always felt more secure there.

At the holidays, when Sherlock was eight and Mycroft was fifteen, they'd hide in there together and read. Mycroft would tell Sherlock about life at boarding school, and Sherlock would beg to go back there with him.

"I could do it, My. You know I could. They start boys at ten there. I already know half the curriculum."

Mycroft had smiled. Not only did his younger brother know the word 'curriculum,' he probably knew it in five different languages already. They'd tried to convince their parents, but Mummy and Father were having none of it. Sherlock was to stay at home with his tutors until he was older.

What had always been Mycroft's bed had long been Sherlock's sanctuary. Now, it was a sanctuary of a different kind.

With the heavy curtains blocking the light and no staff to wake them, it was easy to sleep until noon. Mycroft had no idea what time it was, but Sherlock still slept peacefully beside him. In sleep, Sherlock's features took on an almost angelic quality – more than a little ironic considering how his mind worked. Mycroft lay there, content just to watch his brother sleep and to listen to him breathe. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch his face or to run his fingers over Sherlock's ridiculous cheekbones.

When Sherlock eventually opened his eyes, Mycroft didn't look away.

"Morning, My."

"Morning, love. Sleep well?"

"Mm. I think you wore me out yesterday."

Mycroft smiled. "Any chance you'd let me wear you out again today?"

Sherlock reached over and kissed his brother, pulling him closer. His sleepiness was not reflected in his kiss – far from being a sleepy morning hello, it was a passionate exploration of Mycroft's mouth leading to little nips on Mycroft's lower lip.

Sherlock's hand found its way to Mycroft's arse and squeezed. Mycroft retaliated by palming Sherlock's groin, finding him half-hard already.

"Oh, Sherlock. You're always ready for something, aren't you?"

"I am eighteen. I'm supposed to be in my sexual prime, aren't I?"

"I'm not exactly ancient. I believe I can keep up."

Sherlock was already working his way down Mycroft's chest, exploring it with his mouth and hands. He lingered on a nipple, teasing it with his tongue.

Mycroft squirmed at the contact and almost yelped when Sherlock bit down on it, hard. The pain was brief and sharp but was quickly sublimated into a far more interesting sensation. He'd been nurturing Sherlock's pain kink, but he'd long been neglecting his own.

Mycroft, still a fraction taller than his brother, but more sturdily built, effortlessly flipped Sherlock onto his back. "I want _your_ cock in _my_ mouth again, Sherlock. Perhaps I'll have to tie you to the bed to make sure you take it until I'm done with you."

"I'm not sure I need convincing, but I'd never turn down an offer of bondage. What did you have in mind?" He spread himself over the bed, lasciviously – arms and legs towards the corners of the bed – his erection pressing into Mycroft's stomach.

"Mm. That's certainly tempting, but I had something a little more… vertical in mind."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as Mycroft pushed back the heavy curtains and stepped out of bed. The curtains tied back against each post with a heavy, snug-fitting drapery tie, secured by a large button.

Mycroft secured a set of the curtains to one of the posts at the foot of the bed. "Stand here, Sherlock. Put your hands behind the post and tuck them under the tie."

Sherlock stood proudly against the post, shoulders thrown back, legs wide for balance and his erection jutting out in front of him. "Mm. Mycroft. I do love being tied up."

"You're not the only one, dear brother. We might have to take turns."

With that, Mycroft Holmes, former Headmaster and future politician, fell to his knees in front of his younger brother and proceeded to take him apart.

He started slowly, as some of the best things in life are inclined to do. He'd just taken the tip of Sherlock's erection in his mouth when his brother spied the open door.

"Um, My? Shouldn't we at least close the door?"

Mycroft didn't even dignify the question with a response and started teasing the head of his brother's cock with his tongue. If anything, Sherlock's loud moan only served to make them even more obvious to the minimal staff.

Mycroft's strong, slender hands strayed to his brother's hips, guiding Sherlock just where he wanted him. He'd had Sherlock in his mouth before, but he'd never had the time to do it _right_. He wanted to learn every inch of him – learn the places that would make him moan with pleasure and his knees buckle. This was not some quick blowjob in an alleyway. This was an art form, and Sherlock was going to learn it.

Sherlock tried rudely to push further into his mouth. Mycroft pushed him back against the post and slapped Sherlock's thigh. He pulled off and looked up at Sherlock. "Behave and pay attention. Pretend you're back at school - you'll be tested on this later."

Mycroft focused on the shaft for a while, running his tongue in long broad strokes down the underside. Before he took him back into his mouth, Mycroft wet one of his fingers and started massaging Sherlock's perineum. This produced a somewhat strangled gasp of pleasure from his younger sibling. He used the palm of his hand to cup Sherlock's balls, massaging them gently. He was determined not to involve Sherlock's arse in the proceedings – he wanted to show him just how good oral sex could be when it was done properly.

Every muscle in Sherlock's body ached to push deeper into his brother's mouth. It was taking the last shreds of his self-control to stand there and just _take_ it. Mycroft's methods were brilliant, and Sherlock knew it. Without the distraction of control, all of his attention was focused on Mycroft's actions, and more importantly, _how_ he was achieving them. Mycroft was teaching him how to do this and do it well. _This is better than any history class._

Mycroft leaned forward and dug his fingers into Sherlock's hip, pulling Sherlock all the way into his mouth.

Sherlock's brain struggled to keep up with Mycroft's technique. _Oh god, finally. Ngghh._ That was about all it could manage.

Mycroft's face was pressed up against the dark curls surrounding his brother's cock, his throat open as much as possible to allow for the deep penetration. After a couple seconds, he eased off so he could breathe again. He went back to teasing the shaft. _Keep him off balance. Don't let him know what to expect yet._

Sherlock had indeed expected this to herald the end of the teasing, and he almost whined when he felt Mycroft's mouth pull back. After a few more strokes along his shaft, Mycroft pulled off him completely. This time, he did whine.

"My…"

Mycroft once again slapped him on the thigh but said nothing as his head dipped lower and his tongue ran along the crease between Sherlock's balls. He took one of them into his mouth and rolled it around with his tongue, breathing in the musky scent of it. Sherlock had stopped whining and was trying to get his knees to work again. Mycroft let him get used to that for a bit. _Let him figure out how to do this._

When he impaled himself back on his brother's cock, the resulting noise was satisfyingly loud. Still not quite done with his teasing, he sucked on the head and teased the weeping slit with his tongue. The salty tang made him want more – made him want to feel his brother coming deep down his throat. The time for teasing was over.

He increased the pressure on Sherlock's perineum as he took his cock back down his throat. With his hand on Sherlock's hip, he pulled his brother as deep as he could and then pushed him back against the post. It was a fairly obvious gesture. _Fuck my face. Now._ Sherlock needed no further prompting.

Sherlock pounded into his brother's mouth, all rational thought behind him – at least thirty seconds behind him, struggling to catch up. The wet, tight heat; the steady pressure behind his balls – it was all getting him dangerously close to an orgasm. When Mycroft started swallowing around the head of his cock, the stimulation of it was too much. Sherlock came, groaning obscenities, deep in Mycroft's throat.

Mycroft smiled as he swallowed what little semen was left in his mouth and cleaned off his brother with his tongue. Mycroft could feel him trembling slightly. He wasn't sure if it was from the orgasm, the bondage, or a combination of the two. He stood up and pressed his body against Sherlock's, whose arms were still secured behind him. The strong post of the bed supported them both as Mycroft kissed him deeply.

"Mm. Very nice, little brother. The pleasure of giving… it's not always about getting there quickly, you know."

"Fuck, My. That was amazing." As Sherlock's brain finally caught up with his body, he realised Mycroft was achingly hard. _Oh._

Mycroft undid the curtain tie holding his wrists behind the post and drew Sherlock into his arms. Smoothing his hair away from his face, he kissed Sherlock again.

"I still can't quite believe this, you know. I'm sure one of us should have run screaming by now."

"And yet, here we are, My."

They leant against the post for a while until Sherlock ground himself not-so-subtly against Mycroft's erection. "I'd like to help with that, you know."

Mycroft chuckled and smiled. "It's not a life-threatening condition, you know. It will go away on its own." He paused, an almost pained look of tenderness on his face.

"What, My?"

"I'd like to go back to bed, close the curtains, and just enjoy this. There doesn't have to be more sex right now – there'll be time later. I just want to spend time together like we used to – read, talk, enjoy each other's company. I've missed it a lot over the years."

"I'm reading a fascinating book on particle physics."

"Mm. And I'm reading Churchill's memoirs." Mycroft smiled and fluffed up the obscene number of pillows on the bed. As they pulled the curtains back around them, those intervening years of guilt and pain fell away and were replaced by an afternoon of shared books and conversation in their own private world.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Headmaster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/843186) by [chasingriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver)




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